


Parenting is Hard

by SunnyDonna



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anyone who isn't a kid is an idiot, Bad Parenting, But they'll work it out, F/M, Insecurity, Kid Fic, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, POV Multiple, Thorin is insecure, Thranduil is jealous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyDonna/pseuds/SunnyDonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dis and Nirli are dead, and Thorin is left to pick up the pieces of his family. Unfortunately, it's never quite that simple, and Thorin finds out that he's not quite the best father in the world. He's not throwing in the Towel, but when presented with a parenting support group, Thorin decides to take a leap of faith. </p><p>He hates taking leaps. </p><p>Thranduil's only going because Elrond's going, he could care less about getting help. He has his nanny, Haldir, to take care of everything. But Elrond insists, and yes he has a backbone, he's just being a good friend. </p><p>Whatever, he has work to do. </p><p>Both men can agree on one thing though, Bilbo Baggins is a perfect menace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cracking

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the Hobbit Big Bang Challenge on LJ. I'm posting all the chapters between now and May 31st (when the Big Bang Ends). 
> 
> It was inspired by a prompt I read one day on the hobbit_kink meme and could never find after. If anyone sees it, send me a PM so I can link it there.

It started, as always, with something breaking.

This time, it was the picture frame of Dis and Nirli’s wedding. The cracked glass spread from the bouquet Dis held, made of violets and roses, an odd combination, but Dis had liked strange pretty things. Probably why she fell in love with Nirli.

The sight of the young- so young- couple, smiling as the glass is shattered, sending cracks through their faces caused Thorin to pause. He felt nearly useless as Kili bawled, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his face so red and chubby, filled with snot and tears pouring down his face. Reasonably, Thorin should have bent down and wiped the boy up. Tell him it’s not a big deal. The frame was an ugly present from the office anyways.

But all Thorin could do was stand there, feeling hopeless and tired.

So so tired.

Fili was the one who finally arrived to calm Kili down. It could have been hours, weeks, months, for all that time seemed to have stopped. Nevertheless, Fili had a tissue, and he was squeezing Kili’s nose and patting his head while cooing gentle things like he was the father and Thorin was the gawky child. Then Fili went to pick up the glass, and Thorin snapped into action.

“Don’t!”

Both boys jumped, his voice was brusque and harsh, and not nearly as gentle as Nirli’s was. Dis would have probably laughed and grinned and giggled. Thorin coudl do neither for these boys. And he’s all they have now. Wasn't that exciting? 

Mahal help them all.

“Why don’t you clean this up?” offered Radagast, the nutty social worker who for unfathomable reasons worked with children and people. The man who had the power to tear Thorin apart in seconds.

“Yeah,” said Thorin, swallowing heavily.

He hoped that Dis could forgive him for failing her sons.

* * *

“What do you mean accident?” growled Frerin at the rather nervous looking social worker, who was nearly quivering at the horde of angry men he was staring down.

“It is my deepest regret,” began the social worker, one Mr. Isengrim Took,, “To ah- inform you, that well- On Thursday June 19th, your sister Dis and her husband Nirli- they ah- passed away. It was a hit and run. I’m really, very sorry.”

There was a sudden hitch of breath in the back of the room. Thorin didn’t shift. He didn’t move. It couldn’t be Dis. Not so soon. Not after Thrain and Valla’s death last fall. It was all too much, all too soon. The family wasn’t equipped emotionally to handle something of this- this- size.

Dis had met Nirli nearly seven years ago, and it had been love at first fight. The two were constantly arguing, yelling and screaming and then curling up in the evening for movies and baking and horribly domestic things. They had been married in two months of meeting each other, which was considered horribly scandalous back in the little town of Rhovanian- a two month arrangement and marriage at merely the age of nineteen- but it was Dis and Nirli, and everything they did was scandalous and with flair.

The two had moved back to Ered Luin, a suburb just between the larger cities of Eriador and Ardor, where Nirli lived. He’d only been down for the summer to help his uncle out, after all. Despite the long distances, Dis had always kept in touch, regaling her brothers with stories of her new domestic life in the tinier suburbs of Ered Luin, which had nothing on Erebor county, but it was a nice place nonetheless.

A year later, Dis gave birth to Thorin’s first nephew, Fili. The little blond cherub resembled his father entirely but with the infamous Durin nose on that tiny little face. Thorin had been mesmerized and felt wise beyond his years as he held the tiny thing in his hand. And the miracle was continued two years later with the birth of Kili, who had Dis’ coloring and a strong resemblance to Thorin, Frerin and the late Thrain, but with Nirli’s decidedly angular features.

“The kids?” asked Thorin hoarsely, seeing them in his minds eye right now, giggling as Nirli tossed them into the air, his throat constricting as he imagined their reactions, their fear.

Mahal have mercy.

“They’re currently in the system’s care at a local foster home which specializes in these cases. They weren’t involved with the accident. A neighbor was looking after them at the time,” said Isengrim softly, looking a bit less intimidated.

“And the funeral arrangements?” asked cousin Dain, the most sensible and level of the lot, “I mean, shouldn’t we be flying to Ered Luin?”

“The couple specified they would like to be cremated in their will,” said Isengrim, shuffling the papers, “I believe arrangements are being made by the family in Ered Luin.”

The entire room fell silent, like a gag had been shoved into all of their mouths, which was a strong thing for Durinsons. Durinsons were never quiet. Not even at Valla's funeral last summer had they managed to be quiet throughout the sermon. Thorin’s eyes traveled the walls. Gloin, having left his pregnant wife at home, stood tall, his red beard dropping limply around his frowning face. Oh god- his wife Mili- Nirli’s younger sister, was going to be devastated by the news. Thorin couldn’t envy Gloin’s position, having to tell his wife that her brother and sister-in-law were dead. The same brother that had set the two of them together with a cackle as he stood, young and jovial in his wedding tux. The same wedding where Mili had caught the bouquet with a shocked look on her teenaged face as Gloin snuck glances at the pretty bridesmaid. Beside him, his brother Oin had his head bowed, the hearing aid pulled out of his left ear as though he no longer wanted to listen to bad news.

Thorin couldn’t blame the man.

On the chair beside Oin sat Balin, the eldest of the Durinson cousins. His eyes held devastation and his salt and pepper beard trembled as he shook with sadness. Clasping his shoulder was his younger brother Dwalin, fists clenched and eyes screwed shut. His bald, tattooed head stood out in the crowd of hairy brothers. He remembered Dis’ laughter when Dwalin returned home after shaving his head to get the tattoos done. His newest patch of tribal tattoos would never be laughed at again.

Dain, tall hulking and in a formal suit showing that he’d rushed over from work, was standing with Frerin. Frerin looked impossibly young, still a frat boy in his bulky university hoodie and loose-fit jeans, with dark stubble and hair shaggy around his head. And Thorin was the eldest and the man of the family. He was in no position to be breaking down.

“What about the custody arrangements?” asked Thorin with a sigh.

He had his duty to do.

* * *

“I understand this must be a hard period of time for you,” began a sympathetic Radagast Brown, his wild, frizzy brown hair braided with crazy hair-beads shaped like animals and leaves and for some odd reason, twigs. His vest was patterned with bunnies, of all things. And he wore pin-stripe yellow pants. He always amused Fili and Kili to no end. It was the first thing to make them smile after their arrival to Rhovanian, to Erebor County.

He was also the man Thorin had to place all his hopes on.

“Both Fili and Kili have been through a traumatic loss,” continued Radagast kindly, “And these things are hard to bounce back from. They’re very lucky to have you, and you them. That’s why I have no doubts that you’ll adjust to this situation. The first few months are difficult, but having a six year old and a four year old suddenly put on you simply isn’t simple. Tea?”

Thorin reflexively declined. Radagast’s brew of homemade herbs were only palatable once. Instead, he sat stonily in front of the social worker, waiting for judgement to fall. Waiting for the children to be robbed away from him and sent to live with someone more stable like Gloin, who was still starting out in life with Mili with a heavy mortgage and a new baby on the way. Or else to Oin, whose deafness would be difficult for the boys to adjust to, particularly when Oin’s ears were acting up and he needed absolute quiet to relax again. Or maybe to Balin and Dwalin, who shared a tiny apartment that would have no breathing room for the kids. Or all the way to Dain, where they’d be an hour away from the entire family and Thorin would only get to see them every other weekend and be unable to make sure that they grew up the way Dis and Nirli wanted.

“Please,” began Thorin hoarsely, “I- I know I wasn’t the first choice for this. My mother would have been the best choice, but she’s not here anymore, and Frerin is still in school. Our cousins mean well but I can do this! I have the family home, and a good job- It’s only been two months. Once they start school and we have a bit more of a routine-

“Thorin,” interrupted Radagast kindly, “I’m not going to take the kids away. That’s the last thing they need. I spoke with them earlier, and they love it here. I mean, of course they still miss Ered Luin and their parents, but they adore staying with you. However, I can’t ignore the level of- er- unease, in the home right now. Never fear though! Here, this is a group that meets to support single parents.. It’s run by a good friend of mine. His name is Gandalf, and if anyone can help you, Gandalf can!”

Thorin took the card with less enthusiasm than Radagast probably expected. It was a grey card, sleek and professional with the name Gandalf Grey written in curly letters. The blue heading called Gandalf’s group, “The Company and Fellowship”. It was very different from the eccentric Radagast, who had introduced himself by handing Thorin a gift basket of home-made brew and a business card shaped like a rabbit, which already made it a plus in Thorin’s mind. But at the same time, there was something distinctly kooky about a support group called “The Company and Fellowship”. But really, at this point, what did Thorin have to lose?

Everything.

“I’ll try it out.”

 

 


	2. Deliberation

Part of the upside to having family nearby was that Thorin could just drop the kids off at Gloin and Mili’s place and not have to worry about them. It made it easier knowing that Mili and Gloin were all too willing to take the boys in for an evening while Thorin tried out this… thing.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to call up Gandalf. Probably a lack of option at this point. Thorin wasn’t getting any better at being a parent. Either he was yelling at the boys, or indulging them in bad habits. Honestly, Thorin was a bit of a yoyo at this point, and he wasn't sure quite what to do to stop bouncing around. 

After his parents death, Thorin had inherited the Manor. The yard was large and gated, with tall trees and two tire swings, both on the same tree. The house had seven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a fully furnished basement with a miniature apartment set up for Frerin whenever he came home from university. It was stately and important, with statues and vases and draperies and tapestries. It was a large, empty house with lots of old relics, but it was filled with memories.

Thorin had grown up there, with Frerin and Dis by his side, running the hallways and giggling and laughing all day long. His father and grandfathers had grown up in Erebor Manor. Normally Thoron wouldn’t have moved back to the manor until he was married and starting a family. Now Dis’s children would grow up there as he had.

If only he could encourage them out of their shells. If only he could actually be fatherly. Then maybe the house would have the same infectious and warm air it had as he was growing up. Maybe he could rekindle some of those feelings. 

The morose thoughts were getting him nowhere. With a growl, Thorin turned into the parking lot of the address Gandalf had given him. He was going to be a proper father to these boys. He was going to do right by them. And that meant he had to go through with, well, this.

It’s the last Thorin wanted to do. Go to a meeting with a bunch of other sorry losers who don’t know how to be fathers. It was a stigma that Thorin just couldn't shake off. Durinsons are strong. Durinsons rely on no one. And Durinsons can do anything they set their minds to. Thror and Thrain, his grandfather and father, patriarchs of the Durinson family, had lived by such mottos. Nobody got in their way. 

And now he was his own worst enemy. The weakest of all Durinsons. 

It was a long drive to this place, Beorn’s Hut. On the GPS, it was described as a small farm in between Arnor and Rhovanian, and as a result, it was two hours away by car. Plenty of time to work oneself up into a frenzy in the morning.

His father and grandfather would be disappointed. They’d give him dirty looks and cluck their heads if they realized how desperate Thorin had become. How useless of a parent Thorin was. Durinsons aren’t all that strong after all. He can practically feel the judgmental looks the old family portrait will give him tonight, as it hangs above his bed and silently regards him as he falls asleep. 

As he got to the place, Thorin felt the doubts settling into the corner of his heart. He glared at the building. It was a large house-type location, set on farmland but with a proper parking lot rather than gravel. There was no barn, or if there was, it’s attached to the large house itself. Indeed, as he drew closer, Thorin noticed that the barn was a large attachment of the house, with grand doors that opened into the fenced yard.

There were some large animals in the yard. Thorin recognized horses, huge horses that seemed taller than Thorin himself, with shaggy white coats and dark spots littering across their huge bodies. There were pigs, fat, lazy brownish-pink pigs, rolling around in the mud. A few dogs and sheep ambled in the fenced land, trotting around in the tall grass with bushes and flowers sprouting around in random locations, but looking peaceful and serenic, as though there was some higher purpose to their placement that was above the mere mortal mind. A tree grew out in the middle of the field, with three tire swings hanging from the behemoth and providing a shady expanse for two cows to sleep under.

Somehow, Thorin could imagine Radagast making himself home here, using the grass from the pastures to make his god-awful tea. No wonder he recommended this guy. But really, who organizes a meeting all the way on the outskirts of two major cities? This Gandalf was shaping up to be a rather odd character indeed.

As Thorin headed to park his black Range Rover in the parking spot right beside the doors, another car swerved in front of him, the jackass sliding into the spot despite the fact that Thorin had his signal on. Immediately Thorin’s temper swelled as he pulled directly into the spot beside the jackass, after driving backwards with a quick stomp on the accelerator, and then he jumped out of the car.

At the same time, the jackass in the silver Volvo was getting out as well. He was a tall man, taller than Thorin, which was irritating to say the least. Thorin was hardly a short man, for Durinsons, he was actually quite tall, but he was definitely on the average line. This man was a good head taller, but he was far leaner. Thorin felt smug knowing he had at least thirty pounds of muscle on this guy.

The Volvo-Jackass, as he would now forever be known as, turned and Thorin caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He was thin and reedy, with long blonde hair that was so white that for a moment, Thorin wondered if it lacked pigment, until the sun hit the corners of his face and the blonde streaks lit up. His eyes were a sharp blue, his face pointed so sharp that it could easily double as a weapon.

“Oi!” called Thorin, standing his ground, “Are you blind or stupid, jackass? My signal was on!”

The blonde man arches an eyebrow and pulled out a neatly pressed blazer from the back seat of his car, slipping into the grey fabric as though it were slime that he was rolling in, the worm he is. Thorin wanted to smash the man’s face into the car.

“If you haven’t noticed, asshole,” continued Thorin pointedly, “There are rules to driving.”

The man glanced at Thorin, eyes flickering up and down before he smoothly replies, “Sorry there, didn’t see a tiny little thing like you behind the wheel of such a giant car. Overcompensating much?”

And then he turns and flaunts away, leaving Thorin gaping behind him.

* * *

Thranduil Elvenking was not in a good mood. You would think being the director of the Greenwood Board, he would have more free time. You would think, being the creator of Mirkwood Enterprises, a sublet of the Greenwood Pharmaceuticals would give him the right to plan his own hours. Unfortunately, that was never the case.

After an irritating day at the office, dealing with absolute morons like that foolish intern Narzug (who it really wasn’t that hard to fire), Elrond had called and oh-so-nicely reminded Thranduil that no, he couldn’t go home and take a bath and see his son and daughter and then take a nice long nap. No. Instead, he had to attend this goddamn parenting meeting, because apparently, and this was really the kicker, he wasn’t being attentive enough and he needed to get his life in order.

Of course, that was true.

But it wasn’t like Thranduil didn’t know that. It was just very difficult to be a good father and a successful businessman. After all, not everyone could be goddamned Elrond, single father of four and successful Chief of Medicine of Imladris Hospital. Besides, Thranduil’s job was far more involved than dealing with the dying. After all, Thranduil was the one who worked to get the drugs into them.

“Thranduil,” said Elrond Peredhil, and Thranduil glowered at the man as he ran straight into Elrond at the front door to Beorn’s Hut.

Elrond was every bit the same, confident, overbearing arse-face he’d always been. Elrond was about six years elder to Thranduil, and had always doubled as the older-brother figure in his life. He was taller to Thranduil, with illustrious brown hair that was impressively straight, and like chocolate mousse that was fluffy and light and made Thranduil want to bite off Elrond’s head. His eyes had slight wrinkles at the corners, and laugh-lines around his mouth. He was like the epitome of the perfect near forty-year old man.

“Elrond,” said Thranduil, feeling the acid on his tongue, “Why are you even here? Your children adore you. Didn't you win 'Best father of the year' every year since you became one?" 

Elrond smiled that patient, accepting smile he gave everyone. Thranduil resisted the urge to slap him as the man said, “Well, Gandalf’s an old friend, much like yourself. I’m just here to offer him support and to be there for you.”

“I see,” said Thranduil, curling his lip into a sneer, “Well, let’s get this going. I have a conference call to make regarding the issue with Mordor at five. Bastard Sauron has been cutting into the Greenwood’s stocks with their latest expansion into the field of pharmaceuticals. How the fuck does he have his hand in so many pies?”

“Poor quality, the stuff they produce. Your drugs are much better. Sauron is wily Thranduil, I have no idea where he's getting the investment money from,” said Elrond in agreement, as he held the door open and smoothed down his red- perfectly red, the kind that’s not too bright but still has a rich color to it- shirt down and headed into the building.

The building was as impressive from the inside as it is from the outside. The farm theme carried through, and the tiled floors were the colour of hay, with wood-paneled walls that are at least ten feet high, and light fixtures hanging between rafters. The reception desk was made up to look like barrels, stacked on top of each other, and there was an impressively large man at the desk.

The man in question had lots of hair around his face, sideburns that could possibly be braided, and he wore very little clothing. All he wore was a single vest, black in colour, and a pair of jeans, like he'd stepped out of a biker bar or saloon rather than a friendly meeting for single fathers. Or at least, the secretaries of a place that held such a meeting. All in all, he’s not the most professional secretary Thranduil has ever witnessed, but he looks far cleaner than the secretaries Mordor uses. The ones there always give Thranduil stink-eyes and they seem to be oozing with suspicious intent. This man merely looks... eccentric. 

“Beorn,” says Elrond, beaming at the strange cowboy, “Is Gandalf in?”

“He’s in the second room, one on the left,” grunts Beorn, and that’s when Thranduil noticed that he’s clipping a large German Shepherd’s toenails, the dog sitting patiently with his paw elevated onto the man's lap. 

“Thank you Beorn,” replied Elrond, leading Thranduil to their meeting room.

“That was Beorn Northman, the owner of this place?” asked Thranduil, incredulous as he allowed himself to be walked to the meeting room.

“The one and only,” replied Elrond, “He’s not as brutish as he comes off Thranduil. Don’t judge him too soon.”

Thranduil could only shake his head in reply. What a strange turn of events indeed.

 ****  
  


 


	3. The First Meeting

The first meeting of the parenting group was the strangest day of Thorin’s life. For one, it was literally in the middle of the barn, with animals roaming freely around them. And he was sitting on barrel-shaped chair, to the left of a straggly looking man named Bard, and to the right of a brunette man with lean, angular features named Elrond.

Bard was an interesting man, to say the least. He was thin, but had strong arm muscles, and his hair was dark and curly, falling to his shoulders, with a short brown mustache and a tiny scruff of a beard on his chin. His eyes were thin and dark, suspicious of everyone around him. He wore a heavy, brown leather jacket over his olive shirt and jeans. Over all, in a room of professionals, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Welcome!” said Gandalf, beaming at everyone as he took a seat on his barrel-chair.

Gandalf was an even stranger man than Bard. For one, he wore a giant, floppy grey hat that was meant to resemble a wizard's hat. His suit was a silvery-gray, with a slight shine to it, and he wore no tie, or if he did, it was hidden by his soft white Santa Claus style beard that went to his chest. He carried a wooden cane, that really did nothing but act as a useless accessory because he walked perfectly fine. And for a white-haired man, he looked quite youthful, with sparkling blue eyes and a spring to his step.

Beorn, the thuggish owner of the place, was sitting in the corner of the room, flipping through a magazine. Thorin wanted to question why Beorn was even in the room, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn't going to challenge a man with that much muscle. And apparently a streak of exhibition judging from the rather revealing vest he wore. Even if it was a hot summer, the barn-hotel-whatever-this-place-was had a rather nice air conditioning system. 

“Ah, we’re missing some of our guests,” said Gandalf, not the least bit deterred by the lack of enthusiasm from the group, “No matter, we can start anyways. As you all know, you’re single fathers, in a position of guardianship and looking for some help. In that, I hope to aid your endeavours, and furthermore, I hope you all learn something from each other that you can take away for the better.”

Thorin barely resisted the urge to snort. What was he going to learn from the poncy blonde?

There was a crash in the hallway, and then the door flung open, revealing a very youthful looking boy, almost Frerin’s age, maybe a bit older, with brown hair already streaked with grey, and stubble that hadn't been shaved in a few days.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” panted the boy, bending over to clutch his knees and catch his breath, “Nor- Or- Stuff. Bilbo’s just parking the car.”

“Ah, Mister Dori,” said Gandalf, “It’s not a problem at all, in fact, why don’t you start us off with the introductions, hmm? Just your name and the children you’re in charge of.”

Dori, the poor lad, looked quite out of place and taken aback as he smoothed out his t-shirt and jeans, and then cringed when he saw all the older-looking professional men in the room. Taking a deep breath, the boy began to speak.

“Ah- My name is Dori Ri,” said the boy, and Thorin stared blankly at the boy, wondering if it was a teenage affair gone wrong, or maybe right, who really knew with kids these days, “Er- I have two younger brothers, Ori, he’s six, and Nori, he’s fifteen. I’m their guardian now.”

Right after Dori had spoken, another man came in. Automatically, Thorin sat up, staring in surprise. The new man was a head shorter than Dori, which was just a few inches shorter than him as well. He had curly, dark golden locks and baby-smooth skin. His eyes were a brown, and his nose was twitching from the hay. Unlike Dori, he wore brown overalls over his white button-down shirt. Thorin curled his fist inwards.

“Welcome Mister Dori. Mister Bilbo,” said Gandalf, waving to a chair, that the boy slid into, looking to the group, “Who’s next?”

“Well, my name is Elrond. I have four children, three are from my late-wife Celebrian, and the other is my god-son. His parents passed away. My sons, Elladan and Elrohir are both seven this year and they’re quite a handful, and my daughter Arwen is five. My god-son, Estel is four, and he’s rather precocious,” said Elrond, beaming with pride. Thranduil rolled his eyes beside him.

“Yes, they are rather wonderful children,” agreed Gandalf, “And Mister Thranduil?”

“Ah, my name is Thranduil, and I have two children, boy and girl. My son, Legolas is four, and my adopted daughter, Tauriel is five,” replied Thranduil curtly.

Gandalf nodded, smiling all the while as he turned his attention to Bard, who looked rather surprised at being selected. He cleared his throat as he said, “Bard Bowman. I have three children, Sigrid whose six, Bain whose five and Tilda whose four.”

“And Mister Baggins?” asked Gandalf, turning to Bilbo.

“Ah, I just recently took in my godson- well- I mean- I’m taking him in. He’s only seven months today. Frodo,” said Bilbo, clearing his throat in surprise. He looked far too young, much like Dori, to be a proper parent.

Thorin automatically knew he was next, and he sat up, glancing around as he explained his circumstances with his two boys, both six and four respectively. The introductions felt rather lame, and for the most part, Thorin rather didn’t care for this discussion. He was here to learn parenting advice.

“Part of the reason I chose to have all of you work together in this adventure,” explained Gandalf cheerily, as a silence descended on the place, “Is because all of you have similar circumstances. Unexpectedly being put in charge of minors, and forced to sacrifice many things to deliver appropriate care to these children. As a result, I believe that you all will work well together to deliver the best care to your children possible.”

Thorin glanced around the room, and his eyes met the blonde elvish looking man who had stolen his parking spot. Both of them automatically narrowed their eyes and turned away with a huff.

Yeah right.

* * *

After that horrendous introduction, Gandalf Grey began to hover around, discussing various boring things, like privacy. Thranduil could care less about the matters of privacy. These were a bunch of low-lives, and he wasn’t going to bore the media with tales from the ridiculously unimportant. Who cared about this group? Besides Thranduil and Elrond, the rest were a bunch of uninteresting tossers.

“Now, one of the big things that I found all of you had in common,” said Gandalf, settling into a stump-shaped chair that made Thranduil crinkle his nose in disgust, he had nothing in common with the riff-raff Gandalf had collected- well, beyond their parenthood, “Is that you all came to be single fathers in the most unexpected way possible. None of you were prepared to get such an- unfair- message. As a result, I cannot tell you how I sorry I am for your circumstances.”

Thranduil paused at that information. He would have scowled, but he was raised better than that, and Oropher would have Thranduil’s head if he knew his son had been so impolite. Instead, he nodded politely, schooling his features. He didn’t want to share tragic back stories today. No thank you. Ancient history, that’s all it was.

“I don’t believe in drudging through the past, it has come and gone, however, there is both a loss of your partners, and a significant loss of time. I believe that the only true way to recover is to acknowledge the steps you’ve taken,” explained Gandalf politely. “That’s why, I suggest that you all take one night. Any night, and spend it how you would, just for yourselves.”

The young boy-man named Dori squirmed at that information, looking highly uncomfortable. Thranduil glanced at Elrond, who remained impassively polite, still smiling charmingly at everyone, his brown hair smooth as ever. Bilbo Baggins looked as though he’d start taking notes any second, recording Gandalf’s words, while Bard and Thorin expressed the same doubt that Thranduil felt in their own expressions.

“And how d’you suppose we’d get any time to ourselves?” asked a scowling Bard, “Or have you forgotten that we have young ones waiting on us at home?”

Gandalf was still smiling, perfectly at ease with the situation as he replied, “Of course you do, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? But you all have time on your hands, and a fair interest, why, I think if you put your minds to it, you could find some way to get a night to yourself. I’m not suggesting anything extravagant. Just do one thing you wish to do, but have put off. Whether it be reading the entirety of a book, which is always a pleasant way to spend the night, or catch a late night movie at the drive-in.”

“What’s a drive in?” asked Dori quietly to Bilbo.

Unfortunately for Dori, the teenaged whelp- seriously, how old was the boy?- Beorn’s barn had an echo that carried throughout the room and made the majority of the older men look at Dori with faint amusement. Gandalf, however, looked perfectly scandalized as his beard, a silver, pointy looking mane, twitched in horror.

“You my friend, must head to a drive in,” announced Gandalf, blue eyes looking shocked, “The youth these days! Nevertheless, I recommend that you take off a night to do one thing for yourself. It will make the next few nights much easier. Now, that said, let’s discuss problem-solving tactics.”

Thranduil tuned out as Gandalf began to intone about the various routines that were successful, how to manage bed-times, and to schedule around work. Unfortunately, Thranduil’s subtle glances at Elrond were a waste, because the brunette was an avid participator, and it turned out, a horrible friend, because to Thranduil’s discomfort, he was suddenly put on the block to discuss his routines.

Wonderful.

 

 


	4. Family Feud and Bilbo Baggins

Thorin had enjoyed the counseling session as much as one can enjoy a counseling session. It was, and always was, a true disappointment to go anywhere strange and foreign and find oneself lacking any sort of connection to the matter at hand. In fact, Thorin had found himself thoroughly cross with the lack of usefulness.

He knew he had to implement a routine, but it wasn’t so easy. The kids were still grieving. He was still grieving. His hours at work were odd, and the boys had yet to get back into school. It was probably why he found himself agreeing to Dori Ri’s invitation to go to a bar.

It was a very impractical situation.

In fact, it was a terrible idea, but Dori’s bar wasn’t too far, and the boy had genuinely invited all the members, commenting that the session was rather ‘heavy’, was it not? And Thorin had agreed, to his own surprise. Maybe he had taken some of Gandalf’s words to heart. After a quick call to Gloin that he was going out, and a begging request to keep his nephews at home with their pregnant aunt, Thorin had headed out for the evening, with only a tiny amount of regret.

The following morning, the regret was multiplied by a thousand. His head was pounding as the light rained onto his eyes, teasing his face and forcing him to turn over, wishing earnestly that he’d thought to close the drapes to his home. As he turned, his legs hit something, something soft and fleshy, thinner than his own legs, but much, much hairier.

Thorin’s eyes flew open.

His parent’s bedroom- now his room- was desecrated. The sheets to the bed were coming loose from the mattress, the blanket half on the ground, wrapping his waist. A lamp was knocked over and the lavender lamp-shade hanging on the bed-post, like a judgmental reminder. Above his bed, his parents- oh great Mahal- their wedding picture, was staring down at him. His parents had been fond of the serious look, and it was their now very stoic, posh picture that glared down at him, disapproving and upset.

Clothes were strewn around the room in every manner, tossed and upturned. A pair of very red pants that most certainly did not belong to Thorin were the most offending garment. The red pants were- oh Mahal- crunched up and right beside his face, blocking the view. Limply, his hand came up to clear the pants from his eyesight, and unfortunately, he caught a whiff of the pants, of the pillows, of the room- and that was enough to kick the hangover to the corner of his mind, a dull, throbbing ache.

Beside him, very naked and very asleep was Bilbo Baggins, the other father from the night before, and a companion from- from last night. Bilbo wasn’t an ugly man. Quite contrary. His light brown curls swiveled around his face, as he snored loudly. His back was entirely exposed, pale and dotted with dark freckles. A sharp contrast to Thorin’s weathered, brown skin from his outdoor work. Bilbo probably had never even lifted a hammer in his life.

The blanket obscured the majority of Bilbo’s legs, but definitely not the very white- marshmallow white, and probably as soft- bum that curved upwards. And judging from the very red suckled skin of Bilbo’s neck, Thorin had definitely done more than just look at one Mr. Baggins last night.

That- That was not very good.

No.

It was a very very bad thing.

This morning could not get any worse.

“Thorin! You lazy lout!” came a deep, bellowing call from downstairs as the front door swung open, triggering the alarm system to beep softly- and oh god, Thorin regretted giving his cousin keys, “Where are ya?”

Bilbo, the heavy sleeper that he was, just turned with a harrumph, covering his head with Thorin’s pillow- and Thorin didn’t have time to be miffed that the weak looking man had just grabbed Thorin’s pillow from under him, forcing his head to thunk down on the bed rather roughly, because-

“Uncle Thorin! You lazy lout!” called a giggling Kili- and oh- oh no. This was not happening.

Thorin stumbled out of the bed, grabbing his own dark black pants, and a grey robe. His hair was tousled from sleep and sex, and he had barely enough time to spray himself with cologne and head outside the room, shutting the door, as his nephews came, giggling and happy, not the least bit upset at being forgotten for the night.

The same could not be said about Gloin.

The shorter, red-bearded man with a heavy build and a gruff exterior was positively glaring at Thorin.

“Breakfast?” offered Thorin, voice hoarse as he began to urge the kids downstairs, both babbling at high speeds about Auntie Mili’s moving belly and the entirely blue room- it was entirely blue Uncle Thorin, for Auntie Mili’s baby girl- and Thorin could only nod, hoping that he could get Gloin to leave, and the kids in the backyard playing something or the other, so that he could sneak Bilbo out before things got ugly.

“We already ate silly,” said Kili, as he held his arms out, and it was really rather indulgent to keep carrying the four-year-old boy around, but he was beaming, his black hair tousled and his cheeks like rosy-red apples, demanding that Thorin take a bite from them, because it was his nephew.

He immediately did so, causing the boy to cry out because Thorin hadn’t shaved, and the stubble burns pecked the boy’s cheeks as he pouted and called out, “Not fair! Fili too!”

And the six-year old blond was standing to the back, awkward and watchful, not a rather talkative soul since his mother and father’s death. The blond looked on in horror, however, as Thorin plopped Kili to his hip and headed to chase Fili all the way downstairs, effectively dragging an irritated Gloin to the kitchen with him.

“So- rough night?” cajoled Gloin, once the boys were done regaling him with the magic of the moving belly and the impending arrival of their baby cousin who was most definitely going to be a boy because Kili wanted a baby brother.

“Something like that,” muttered Thorin, as he sipped the coffee, thankful he’d outgrown horrifying hangovers after college.

“Rough enough to forget the boys?” asked Gloin, the stink-eye trained on Thorin, as though gouging his soul out with a mere toothpick. It hurt far more than Thorin could explain.

“I got drunk and forgot,” winced Thorin in explanation, and Gloin just raised his bushy red eyebrows, thick arms crossing over his barrel-chested middle under the equally unruly red beard. The judgement had intensified, like a fork pricking all over you. A particularly large, heavy metal pitchfork meant to spear your guts.

“Laddie,” said Gloin, despite the fact that he was, in fact, Thorin's age, “If the parenting thing is stressing you out, Mili and I are more then willing, hell Mili misses her brother like hell and the boys-

“I'm perfectly capable of handling this,” announced Thorin brusquely, “I just- It was one night. I took the counsellor's words to get out one wild night a bit too literally. But this is my job, and the boys are my responsibility Gloin.”

Gloin eyed him, measuring him much like Oin would measure out his various ointments and creams and herbal remedies, before sighing and nodding, looking reluctant to drop the topic, but for the most part, was willing to take a step back. Which was all Thorin really wanted anyways.

Just as Thorin seemed to get the situation back under some sort of control, the stranger- Bilbo- entered the kitchen, fully dressed and apparently showered. His curly brown hair was damp, the ringlets clinging to his cheeks, and he smelled of Thorin's body wash. He seemed taken aback at the sight of Gloin and Thorin, and in fact, turned bright red.

“I- er- I was just coming to tell you I was on my way out- I didn't know you had company er- Thorin,” asked Bilbo, the question left hanging in the air.

“Yeah,” said Thorin, confirming his name to the stranger, who apparently remembered the details as well as Thorin did, “Er-

“Whose this?” boomed Gloin, eyes horrifyingly wide and staring at Bilbo, dressed spic and span in a waist-coat, brown corduroys and clutching the strap of a messenger bag tight to his chest. He could have been someone who had just ventured in if it wasn't the signs of the shower- and really, how had he showered and dressed and Thorin hadn't heard a thing?

“Bilbo Baggins,” introduced the man timidly, offering a hand to shake, “And er, you are?”

“Gloin Durinson,” replied Gloin, shaking the offered hand a bit too roughly, and unable to keep his voice down, because Fili and Kili were inside the kitchen, attracted by the rough noises and startled surprise. Children, it seemed, were drawn to chaos like fire to, well, more fire.

“Whose this?” demanded Kili, who of the two boys, was more imperious and afraid of strangers.

“Bilbo Baggins, and I was just leaving,” repeated Bilbo quickly, and Thorin lifted Kili automatically at the silent demand of raised arms, clutching the boy to his chest as Gloin continued to give him disapproving glares from the corner of the room. Fili had moved to clutch Thorin's robe, while simultaneously never taking his eyes off the stranger in their kitchen.

“It's nice to meet you Mr. Boggins,” chimed both boys, Dis' training well instilled in them.

“Baggins,” repeated Bilbo helplessly, only to be simultaneously ignored as the boys fled to Thorin's side.

“Would you like some coffee?” blurted out Thorin, because he was somehow fucking everything up, and it wasn't right to let the man leave without at least offering him some coffee. His mother and Dis would have skinned him alive. Besides, he should at least set a good example for the boys.

Mahal help them all.

“Ah,” began Bilbo, looking surprised, “I- I suppose I could go for a cuppa, but well, are you sure?”

Thorin was already frantically turning, but Gloin had beat him there, pouring the remnants of the stainless steel kettle's coffee into a bright pink mug that had once belonged to Thorin's mother. Bilbo accepted it politely, thanking Gloin and looking rather out of place amongst Durinson men. He just lacked the common rough and brash attitude to fit in- and gods, what on earth had Thorin been thinking?! Bilbo was a pretty lad, no doubt, but he was certainly not the sort of man you brought home.

“Thank you,” said Bilbo, as Gloin passed the milk and sugar, and it was with a lurid fascination that Thorin watched the man pour four sugars and possibly a cupful of milk into his coffee.

“Can I have some?” asked Kili quietly to Thorin, and Thorin was too busy being horrified at the corruption of perfectly good coffee to catch the question.

So Kili repeated himself, however, this time loudly enough so that everyone could hear.

“No, it's not good for growing boys,” said Thorin easily enough.

Except it seemed that today was not going to be his day, because Fili, the more mature, responsible boy, turned to Thorin and asked, “Why?”

Usually Kili was the more curious, however, he was also satisfied with simpler answers, often made-up stories. Fili was unfortunately fabulous at catching a lie, and was much less likely to believe that it was simply because of icky plants or snakes or because of magic. He wanted concrete evidence stacked in front of him so that he could make a satisfying judgement.

Thorin stared at Fili, and then grunted out, “It's god caffeine, which is bad for growing boys.”

“What's calf-knee?” asked Kili, nose scrunched up at the strange word.

“It's a drug,” explained Thorin awkwardly, “Like medicine.”

Both boys glowered at the term. Cough syrup, it turned out, was their worst enemy. Worriedly, Kili stared at the cup as though it may leap at him, and then, without any warning, he pushed the steaming hot cup of coffee out of Thorin's hand, and shattered it on the floor.

“Ouch!” screamed Fili, as the coffee splattered all over the floor, and some of the brown liquid hit his bare legs, “Kili!”

“Don't move!” ordered Thorin immediately, his voice turning gruff and scary, and both boys went silent, Fili sniffling in beside him, glass shattered around his feet, and Kili on his way to tears to apologize for his latest accident.

“Nothing to cry over spilled milk, or coffee in this case,” chimed Bilbo softly from the corner of the room, as Gloin bustled over to grab the broom and pan, “Kili was just trying to help, right?”

The brunette boy nodded, face already a mess of snot and silent tears. From the air, it seemed, Bilbo pulled out a white handkerchief with roses stitched into the corners, and gold leaves around the edges. It screamed expense, and now it was right beside Thorin and wiping at Kili's nose and tears, as Fili gravitated towards Bilbo, the unexpected hero in this tragic tale of terrible parenting.

“Let's leave your Uncle to clean this mess up,” said Bilbo, wiping at Fili, who seemed enchanted by the fancy cloth that Thorin doubted he'd ever seen before. Durinsons weren't much for kerchiefs or the like, and he was pretty sure Nirli had never heard of such a thing.

“Okay,” said Kili, shifting to Bilbo's arms. The scrawny man was able to not only lift the boy, but also hold Fili's hand and lead them both to the living room, giving Thorin a sympathetic smile on his way out.

Thorin stood, staring at the empty doorway for a few moments and trying to piece together what had just happened. Around him, the bristles of the black broom were tickling at his toes, which had thankfully been spared shards of glass, and Gloin was clearing way the hot mess at his feet.

And wasn't that Thorin's life story?

“Y'know,” muttered Gloin as Thorin got his act together and began to wipe the coffee up with a cloth, “If you were just hooking up, you could'a warned a man. I'd have brought the boys over later. But well, a bachelor lifestyle isn't quite suited to be a father Thorin.”

Thorin had nothing to say to that.

* * *

“And that's why when you drop something, you always have to say-

“Sorry!” chimed both boys, looking eager as they sat beside Bilbo on the couch, practically climbing over the reedy, pretty little man.

Thorin hoped they didn't get attached. The one-night-stands conversation was something he envisioned speaking about- well- never. Ever. Like seriously never ever. To his relief, Bilbo noticed him entering, and was quick to rise, both boys looking horrified as he did.

“Are you leaving now?” demanded Fili, as Kili wailed, “You can't go! I want to hear more about Cousin Otho!”

“Otho Baggins is filled with tales of his tremendous ridiculousness,” offered Bilbo with a sweet smile, “But I must be going. Besides, soon you'll have a cousin to tell me stories about.”

The boys looked at him with twin looks of despair, and then back to Thorin, as though demanding him to make the tragedy end. He's not really going to leave, is he Uncle Thorin? Did you do something? Did we do something?

“But I promise we'll see each other again,” said Bilbo, and then he was caught in a puppy pile of hugs, and really now. He was the child whisperer. The boys took forever to warm up to strangers and here they were crawling all over the man.

The man straightened up, after patting each boy on the head, and somehow managing to resist the forlorn stares that always won pizza over vegetables and an actual cooked meal. Maybe he really was the child whisperer. Thorin tried not to gape as he smiled at Gloin, who was doing his level best to disappear into the corner and silently judge Thorin's life choices, and cheerfully said, “Congratulations on the baby. Maybe next time we meet we can trade stories!”

And then he turned to Thorin and said, “Thank you for having me over Mr. Durinson. I'm sorry to have imposed. I'll see myself out?”

And then the completely ridiculous man, in a waist-coat for crying out loud, walked straight out the door in perfect composure, making Thorin feel absurdly out of place. Thorin turned to Gloin, demanding some sympathy for being put out by a man who was leaving his house. But Kili and Fili were still giving the door deep looks of contemplation, as though questioning whether or not they could bring Mr. Baggins back by mere force of will, and Gloin was looking chuffed at the mention of his unborn child.

“He's a lovely lad,” said Gloin, and really, Thorin shouldn't have expected sympathy from the man. He was a giant puppy, after all, “Maybe you should have him babysit more often. Or you know, take advice from him.”

Thorin kicked Gloin out after that.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed in a bit of a daze. The boys had returned to being absolutely unbearably attached to one another, and were discussing things in their own, secret made up language that truly wasn't all that hard to decipher since Kili kept forgetting words and Fili had to keep reminding him what they were, ergo tuning Thorin into the conversation and assuring him that his nephews had no nefarious intent as of yet.

Sometime after he'd fed the boys a truly dismal lunch of carrots and sandwiches, comprised mostly of peanut butter and bananas, Thorin concluded he needed to go grocery shopping. An outing, it turned out, that the boys detested. Not that Thorin could blame them much. The last time they went grocery shopping, the woman at the cash register had glared at Thorin's purchases as though he was poisoning the boys.

Apparently, organic foods were much better for young boys. And cheap processed meals were a source of obesity and low sperm count and the apocalypse. Thorin recognized the importance of a healthy diet, after all, but the boys wanted to eat things they liked. And if they liked smily-face potato crisps and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, why not? They were just kids, and they reminded the boys of Dis.

Half-way to the grocery store, his cell phone rang. Thorin pushed the answer button as he placed his blue-tooth to his ear and listened to the voice of one Dwalin Durinson ring through the headset.

“Was he at least a good fuck?” asked Dwalin unashamedly.

“I am not in the mood to be judged today,” growled Thorin, glancing at the backseats of the car where Fili and Kili were arguing over who got to be the Red-Ranger and who had to be the Yellow-Ranger, “The boys are with me.”

“So you are taking care of them today,” said Dwalin sarcastically, the anger heavy in his tone, “Here I thought ye were off fucking some other boy.”

“Dwalin,” growled Thorin, tightening his hands on the wheel of his rather ostentatious Range Rover, “Shut up. It wasn't like that. He was – It wasn't supposed to-

“What if ye'd had one of those surprise inspection things?” cried Dwalin into his ear, “They're already making ye take classes. What if they just decide to put the boys in a home?!”

“That's not going to happen,” growled Thorin ferociously, startling the two youngsters in the back, who gave him a wary look. They had yet to fully understand the concept of the blue-tooth, and most times, Thorin suspected they thought he was a lunatic.

“Yeah,” said Dwalin with a sigh, “I know. We won't let it happen. But, er, if you need help, y'know, Balin and I can help.”

Thorin grunted an affirmative. And then the two men laboured in silence that allowed Thorin to wonder about his choice in friends. Silent, stoic and judgemental. He needed to get new friends.

“Balin want's to speak to ye,” said Dwalin quickly, passing the phone off to his brother.

Thorin was gritting his teeth in reply as he swerved into the second lane, getting ready to turn right and get to the conglomerate of grocery stores, Dale. He listened to Dwalin warn his brother Balin not to be too harsh with Thorin, who was earnestly apologetic, and then listened to Balin reply that he would spare Thorin some dignity.

“If you're in the market for a spouse,” said Balin immediately as he got on the line, “Then I have some colleagues who can introduce you.”

Thorin groaned, and he could hear Dwalin snort in the background. Gritting his teeth and sending a quick plea to Mahal, he replied, “I have no interest in a spouse Balin. I made a mistake last night that won't be repeated.”

“And where on earth did you meet this mystery Mr. Boggins?” asked Balin, as Thorin gave a glance back to see that he'd engaged the children to watch him.

“At classes,” said Thorin automatically. No one had quite mastered the art of lying to Balin yet, “And before you get on my case, I'm aware of the consequences.”

Balin was silent, Dwalin sounded like he was swearing ferociously about the situation. Thorin contemplated killing both his cousins. Was it fratricide if he succeeded?

“You do realize that this man will be someone you see quite often,” asked Balin jovially, “Most probably on a weekly basis. And that it might make things difficult for you if you're thinking of him naked.”

“And we're at the grocery store,” announced Thorin loudly, as he searched for a parking spot, “I'm taking Fili and Kili groceries, and well, you know how it is Balin. We'll be alright. Nice talking to you, good bye.”

He hung up before Balin could impart more words of wisdom that may or may not ruin his life entirely. Thorin really hated his cousins.

* * *

Mili and Gloin were going to die. Their orphaned son or daughter would be adopted immediately by Thorin and raised not to be a gossipy little brat like his parents. He was standing between the cereal and the granola bars, letting Fili and Kili boss him around and buy three boxes of cereals each that Thorin suspected they wouldn't eat, but both of them looked so much like Dis and Nirli, and they kept talking excitedly about how daddy ate them all mixed together (which sounded like something Nirli would do) that Thorin didn't have it in him to say no.

The sugar from one bowl alone might give them cavities. Thorin resigned himself to picking up more floss to make amends for it.

With that thought out of his mind, he returned to the phone call, lazily pushing the cart around and listening to Frerin's excited frat-boy yammering.

“So was he like, a nine or a ten? He has to be pretty hot if you ditched the boys for him,” regaled Frerin cheerfully, “Did he give good head?”

“I was imbibed Frerin,” replied Thorin irritably, “I made a bad decision and it isn't happening again. How's school?”

Frerin, in typical younger brother fashion, ignored him entirely to speculate about whether Thorin liked blondes more, or brunettes or the exotic red-head. Thorin didn't have it in him to care anymore. By the time Dain called to crow over Thorin’s ‘conquest’, he’d be so numb and hopefully the boys would be asleep that he’d be able to rip his cousin a new one.

“Ouch!” sounded Kili, and then there was an obnoxious yell from Fili of, “Leave him alone you- you- butthead!”

Thorin winced and without bothering to tell Frerin goodbye, he hung up on the chatterhead and rounded the corner of the aisle, to come face to face with Fili and a smaller blonde boy, platinum blonde that was really quite familiar, pushing each other furiously, and a red-headed girl yelling at them ‘to stop being dummies!’ while Kili looked on fearfully.

“Uncle Thorin!” cried Kili, eyes wet again, and snot once again pouring down his nose, and Thorin wondered if a handkerchief was a good investment as he wiped Kili down with the kleenex he’d gotten good at remembering to have on him at all times.

“What happened?” growled Thorin, and immediately all the children came to attention.

The red-haired girl was tall for her age, with attentive eyes and a pout on her pink lips. She wore a green hoodie and jeans, and looked entirely comfortable with the situation. Her red hair was pulled back into a perfect plait and Thorin thanked his stars that Dis had never had the daughter she’d always wanted because that looked damn near impossible for him to achieve. Her brother a bit shorter to her, and somewhere between Fili and Kili in height, with an arrogant expression and long pin-straight blonde hair, that curled at the ends of his neck. Clad in a black t-shirt under blue overalls, he was hardly the most intimidating sight Thorin had ever seen, were it not for his furious expression.

“Legolas! Tauriel! I told you to stay with me!” called a scolding voice, and a blond-haired man appeared around the corner. He was taller to Thorin, and his hair was two-shades too dark for the boy to inherited. In fact, he looked nothing like either child at all, besides the similar pointed featured and long langy bodies.

“He pushed Tauriel!” announced the younger boy furiously, “I was fenning her!”

“Defending,” corrected the man gently, and then he smiled at Thorin apologetically, “I’m so sorry sir.”

“Kili, did you push the girl?” asked Thorin with a raised eyebrow at the boy who looked like he might burst into tears again.

“No! She was in the way and I wanted - and she want- and then I-

He was babbling and incoherent, and then Fili tugged on his pant leg and said softly, “He ran into her and then the butthead hit him.”

“Legolas,” said the man, looking so disappointed that Thorin himself felt like apologizing, “Did you give the boy a chance to explain.”

Legolas had the grace to look ashamed. The girl huffed and then crossed her arms as she said, “I can defend myself! Now apologize Lego.”

Legolas pouted and glared at Kili as he furiously said, “Sorry.”

It was the most unapologetic apology that Thorin had yet to witness. Both girl and possible-father winced at the apology, but Thorin nudged Fili, and in likewise fashion, the boy growled out a “Sorry.”

And the matter was put to rest. Mostly.

“I’m really quite sorry for Legolas’ behavior,” said the man, extending a hand as he introduced himself as “Haldir.”

“Thorin,” replied the brunette, shaking the hand politely, “Kids will be kids.”

“Yes, but I’ll have to let his father know,” said Haldir with a sigh, “He gets terribly defensive of his sister.”

“Not that I need it,” she crowed again, intently listening, while Legolas had bounded off to look at cookies. Kili was sniffling into Thorin’s shirt, wiping it down with snot as Fili watched everyone with suspicious glares.

“You’re their babysitter?” asked Thorin, mystified at the idea. All of his babysitters were relatives, and most were indulgent of the boys. Maybe an actual babysitter wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

“Nanny, actually,” explained Haldir, “I work at Lothlorien Nursery. We have a specialized nanny program for our clients who need it.”

“I’ve heard of your nursery,” said Thorin, “Is it as good as they say?”

“Better,” replied Haldir, not smug, but rather as though he was stating a fact, “We work hard to provide the best service that we can. Are you interested?”

“Perhaps,” hedged Thorin, and the man glanced at Thorin’s shopping cart that screamed unhealthy life choices, which really was all Thorin needed to prompt, “Can I get your number if I have any questions?”

“Of course,” said Haldir delicately, and the fact that he didn’t make any comments on Thorin’s lifestyle made it far easier to accept the number and consider the option, “If nothing else, we can arrange a playdate.”

Fili was scowling at the suggesting, while Kili had poked his head out of Thorin’s now wet and sticky shoulder to peer excitedly at the idea of playing. Tauriel looked unimpressed.

“Maybe,” agreed Thorin, “It was nice meeting you Haldir. Now if you’d excuse me, I have some more shopping to finish. Come along boys.”

He slipped Kili into the trolley, as Fili walked along beside Thorin, still glaring backwards at the other family.

Overall, not their worst day ever.  

 

 


	5. The Meeting After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also the one where Thorin makes a mess of things and Balin is always right.

The next advisory meeting at Beorn’s came by all too quickly. Thorin hadn’t spoken with Bilbo since, and like most children, Fili and Kili had largely forgotten Bilbo’s existence after two days of non-stop begging to see Mr.Boggins. His family had backed off from their intermixed decisions of sending him on dates and scolding him, and Mili had gotten fatter and more pregnant by the time Thorin dropped off the boys at her home.

It was hard to believe that little Mili was going to have a baby within the next month. Thorin still found it difficult to accept that they weren’t having twins with the size of her belly. 

Beorn the strange, tall and mysterious man had set them up again in the barnyard meeting place, where Gandalf had now gotten a blackboard. The grey-haired, grey-suit-wearing man was prancing around and regally chattering away.

“Problem-solving is the key to any good parent. As a single father, you’ll find yourself dealing with twice as many issues on a daily basis. Now, let’s share one problem we’ve faced this week, and how we overcame it,” said Gandalf jollily, “For instance, I discovered that my friend Saruman is not fond of the coffee I make, so I resolved this issue by making him tea instead. He’s decided to continue making the coffee and tea for us ever since.”

The group looked at Gandalf blankly, but fortunately, Elrond spoke up first, looking unfazed by Gandalf’s ‘problem’.

“Well, Elrohir and Elladan were teasing Estel this week about being selected for the choir at daycare. I sat all three of them down and discussed the merits of choir and the two apologized to their brother within the hour,” said Elrond, and Thorin found himself rollling his eyes. What a jerk.

“Very good,” said Gandalf approvingly, “Now, Thranduil, how about you?”

Thranduil looked sour as he considered the week, and then finally he stated, “The kids wanted to stay up on Thursday to finish the movie they were watching, Brave. They’re rather fond of the character. So I agreed to let them stay up on the condition that they were quiet until my conference call was over.”

Gandalf looked pensive at the situation, “What time did the movie finish?”

Thranduil looked uneasy as he replied, “I think around nine-thirty. They were asleep by ten o’clock.”

“What’s their usual bedtime?” asked Elrond curiously.

Thranduil scowled as he said, “Whatever time the nanny puts them to bed. They’re usually asleep before I get home.”

Silence reigned, and Thorin inwardly crowed at the situation.

And then it was Dori’s turn.

“Nori was playing really loud music the other night while I was trying to get Ori to go to sleep. I took his speaker system away,” said Dori with a shrug.

“And was Nori okay with that?” asked Gandalf leadingly.

“He yelled at me all night and then went to sleep over at Bombur’s house,” said Dori with a shrug, “But Ori was asleep by then, and he came back in the morning with waffles that he got from Bombur.”

Gandalf looked even more pained.

Bilbo the little suck-up however, was perfectly perfect as he explained, “Well, the details of Frodo’s adoption haven’t been finalized yet, but I was able to set up his room this week, and he’s stayed over three nights to get acquainted to the room before we make the move.”

Then it was Thorin’s turn. And he was drawing a blank. He stared open-jawed for a bit at the crowd, trying and failing to come up with something or the other that suited such a purpose and didn’t make his parenting attempts seem so dismal.

“Kili wanted to go visit my cousin, Gloin and his wife Mili, their aunt. But it was very late and the boys needed to go to bed, so I let the boys talk to her on the phone instead,” said Thorin, proud at having a simple enough example.

“And how long did the phone call last? Did it interfere with their bedtimes?” asked Bilbo of all people, looking dubious of Thorin’s suggestion, and Thorin scowled ferociously. How dare the man question him?!

Thorin frowned, and grumpily added, “It was two hours long. They went to bed at eleven. We usually schedule bed-time an hour after dinner.”

“When’s dinner time?” asked Gandalf, that displeased and slightly unimpressed expression on his face, as he stroked his soft white beard and made Thorin feel like a squirmy child.

“Around six or eight, depending on when the boys want to take their bath,” muttered Thorin, still loud enough to hear, but quiet enough that anyone could tell he knew he had made a grave error.

“Well then, and you Bard?” asked Gandalf. It was the use of their first name for sure, thought Thorin as Bard mulled over the question in a broody silence. The first name made them feel like intimate friends, particularly when Gandalf used such a knowing expression and a kindly older man demeanour that was better suited to a grandparent. The wily bastard.

“The kids interrupted a business-meeting of mine. Sigrid spilled juice on the the other guy, and I dismissed him,” said Bard quietly.

“And what was the solution? Why did they interrupt?” asked Gandalf.

“Bain wanted to clarify the difference between laws and rules,” said Bard easily, “And the associate was just delivering some testimonies, so I sent him home for the day." 

“What if the man was an important client?” asked Thranduil the poncy git, looking heavily scandalized at such a thought, “What would you have done then?!”

“I’d have locked the door,” replied Bard with a shrug.

Thorin couldn’t help his snort. Neither apparently, could Beorn or Dori, and even Bilbo looked vaguely amused at the logic. Gandalf seemed impressed, but at the same time disappointed. How on earth did one man show so much expression with a twitch of his eyebrow?

“Well then,” boomed Gandalf suddenly, “It’s very clear what the issue is here! We need to work on routine building. Let’s split up into groups of three and come up with a suitable week-day routine to carry out. Routines, though rather irritating, are very useful if you need to stay on track and provide a child with structure in their life. Not to mention it allows you to keep some structure in your own life.”

Thorin gritted his teeth.

* * *

With those ominous words, Thranduil found himself seated beside the irritating brunette from last week, Throin or something, and the unbelievably atrocious business man, Bard. Elrond had gotten into the group with the cherubim Bilbo and the barely-legal Dori. What the hell was Thranduil doing in such a group of misfits? Surely he wasn’t such a poor parent that he belonged in such tedium?

He could almost feel his father’s disappointment lingering around him.

“Let’s just get this over with,” hissed Thranduil, and Throin looked like he couldn’t agree more, and then he looked pained at the thought of agreeing with him. Thranduil ignored the petulancy. If he couldn’t deal with one man taking his parking spot, the Throin was doomed to be an ignorant idiot.

“Right, so, what time should the kids wake up?” asked Bard, his deep alto voice reverberating in his throat as he spoke, lending to a soothing quality that Thranduil had previous only associated with Elrond, “I usually wake my kids up around eight thirty, unless they’re really tired. How about you?”

“I’m usually at work, but the nanny comes by around seven thirty when I leave,” replied Thranduil with a shrug and just a slight pinch of guilt.

Throin snorted and with a pompous, bratty air,  he stood up straighter and said, “The boys usually wake up around nine, and then watch cartoons.”

Bard nodded, writing these notes down on the pad that Gandalf had provided them, “What about when the nanny isn’t around Mister Thranduil, what happens then?”

Thranduil grimaced and twitched his fingers uneasily, “He’s over every day. If I’m home, then I usually wake up after the kids.”

“Alright, so let’s set a time that you should wake up with the kids. Something that doesn’t really matter too much,” said Bard, running a hand through his thick curly waves, or wavy curls, or whatever type of hair that was, “What time suits you?”

“Nine,” said Thranduil promptly.

“Great, and then breakfast?” asked Bard, looking at both men who were doing their best to ignore the other’s presence.

“I usually make them something when I get up around ten,” said Throin first, “But the boys know where the cereal and milk and things are. Fili’s good at pouring the bowls. I eat whatever’s left over.”

Thranduil grinned viciously at the target and announced, “I make my babies omelettes, becuase I actually know how to cook a healthy meal instead of letting them fend for themselves.”

Throin turned a vicious shade of red, and from the frosty air of ignorance, a spark of gasoline erupted into a giant cacophany of whatever special breed of insanity the two utilized, as Throin glared at Thranduil and said, “At least I’m around to see my kids, Mr. Nanny-Does-Everything.”

Thranduil turned a horrible shade of pink, the sort that old ladies wear to bed, and struck out with, “Why you little brat! At least my children are properly attended instead of left to their own devices. I bet the cereal you feed them is processed!”

“At least I know what they’re eating,” replied a vicious Throin.

“What’s going on here gentleman?” asked Gandalf, coming to interfere at once, “Surely just a lively debate.”

At this point, Thranduil turned to notice that everyone in the rather small room was staring at himself and Throin, including Elrond, who merely had a dark eyebrow cocked in amusement at his long-time friend. Thranduil scowled sullenly in reply, feeling twice as foolish, particularly when he saw that the curly-haired brunette was looking at Elrond’s wallet, the wallet he kept photos of his children in. When had they gotten so close?!

“Just a misunderstanding,” said Bard in that drawl of his, “We got it all sorted out.”

“Well, maybe we need another party just to help keep things under control,” suggested Gandalf.

And that’s how the barely-legal boy was brought in front of them, looking two parts bewildered and one part relieved.

“Are you two going to fight again,” he asked, “Because I don’t want to be sent back there because I can’t handle some fighting. They’re talking about flowers and gardening!”

Thranduil’s mood soured further.

* * *

The rest of the routine-making exercise went impeccably. Mostly because Thranduil had gone incredibly silent and Thorin was relieved. Of course, he’d been mostly silent too, thus leaving Bard and Dori to hammer out the specific routines. Sure he’d contributed when asked, and graciously accepted the schedule they’d provided, with the promise to implement it when he got home, but for the most part, he’d been occupied with other things.

Namely Bilbo Baggins, the bothersome brat that had invaded his space. Bilbo Baggins had spent the entire meeting seated almost on top of Mister Peredhil’s lap, exchanging fond smiles and laughs and whispering at each other.

Now, Thorin was hardly one to be infatuated or obsessive over a man he had just met, let alone a man he’d had intimate relations with (It was sadly a point that many of his lovers found less desirable in his behavior), however, he was still a man of scruples. And those scruples didn’t seem to apply to one Mr. Baggins.

Not only had he become bosom buddies with Elrond, it seemed that he delighted in poking holes about Thorin’s parenting! And to make matters worse, he was headed this way. Thorin had seen the man approaching him from the corner of his eye, as Bilbo shrugged Dori to go ahead, but he didn’t want to stop and make polite conversation.

Especially not today.

Apparently, Bilbo Baggins had not received the memo. He was right up in Thorin’s space within minutes, pervading the air and beaming at Thorin as though they were rather good friends. Thorin wanted to shake the man and tell him not to be so friendly. There was nothing coming out of this rather foolish relationship.

“Thorin!” crowed Bilbo, having corned Thorin right beside his car, “I was hoping to speak with you today!”

“So talk,” gritted Thorin, debating internally whether he should just open the door of his car and slide in.

“Well, I just wanted to ask how Kili and Fili are doing,” said Bilbo, nattering away as though Thorin had invited the man to discuss their life stories together, “They’re really very sweet. I was wondering if everything went alright after I left. It seemed a little chaotic, which I can understand, what with two boys and all. I always wanted a sibling, but my mother wasn’t always too well to have another child. I did have many cousins, fortunately, like you and Gloin. How is Gloin by the way, and his wife? I hope things didn’t get awkward for him when I left. I really wanted to apologize for putting you in such a precarious position! I had no idea that the boys would be back that early, otherwise I’d have set an alarm, but really, you should have mentioned something! Or did Gloin catch you by surprise? Anyways, it makes good practice after all. Now I won’t make the same mistake with Frodo. He’s going to be living with me permanently as of Tuesday, which is rather nerve-wracking. But at least he’s just one, and I mean, you’re handling two! I can’t even imagine the difficulties-

“No you can’t,” growled Thorin, interrupting the tirade of verbal garbage that spilled from the smaller man’s mouth.

He seemed stunned at being interrupted, and then frankly stated, “No need to be rude.”

“Was there a point to this conversation?” asked Thorin, annoyed and tired and just plain old irritated over everyone judging his parental skill.

“Well, yes,” said Bilbo finally, “I was wondering if everything was okay after I left the other day.”

“Perfectly peachy,” said Thorin, raising himself up to his full height so that his glare would be that much more intimidating to the smaller man, “Unlike you, I have the boys under my care all the time.”

Bilbo frowned, looking at Thorin suspiciously, his hands folding across his chest and he leaned backwards as he cautiously said, “Well, yes I suppose so. Do- Do you make this sort of thing a frequent habit? Because that’s rather unfair to the boys-

“What I do in my private space is none of your concern,” growled Thorin darkly, “Now if you’d excuse me-

“I know it’s not my place,” said Bilbo frankly, now eyebrows furrowed as a scowl adorned his pink lips, “But I was just trying to be nice. And get to know you, after all! I rather liked your boys. But if you’re going to be rude and irritable, then I’ll stay away. I don’t need any negativity in my life or in Frodo’s life!”

And then, because Thorin had never quite learned the art of just dropping a matter, because a Durinson always had to have the last word- and yes, it did make for some rather awkward and rather loud family dinners and holidays and arguments- he opened his giant mouth, beard twitching with anger and blue eyes crackling as he arrogantly began to let himself speak out of turn.

“You know, just because you’re going to be a father soon doesn’t make you a father. Frodo’s not even living with you yet! And all this nancy planning that you’ve implemented, these fancy schedules and these splendid parenting techniques will go out the window and you’ll figure out what it means to really be a parent instead of just playing pretend,” said Thorin viciously.

Later, he may even feel guilty over the way things went. For now though, Thorin merely opened the door to his Range Rover, and got into the car.

Unfortunately, the smaller man had the same awful trait of the Durinson, and before Thorin could shut the door he was shouting, “At least I’ll be prepared and won’t be a bad example for my children, Durinson!”

And then he stomped off on his heels, leaving Thorin to drive home with anger in his brow and a tight grip on the wheel as he muttered curses in Khuzdul about Bilbo Baggins that would have scandalized his mother and father and made Dis and Nirli laugh. Goodness, he hated that pompous little nancy swot. Probably was a poor little grocer, and there he was, judging Thorin, a CEO of a major company. He'd even gotten the last word in on their argument! How perfectly rude! 

Bilbo Baggins was a right pain in the arse.

Somewhere else, Balin got that satisfaction of knowing he’d been right when he told Thorin that he was needlessly complicating the situation.

 

 


	6. The Third Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more tense for Thorin and Thranduil. Bilbo and Elrond are doing just fine, however.

By the time the next Saturday rolled around, Thorin found himself facing down a very pregnant Mili, who was cooing at the boys from the door. Usually, at this point, Thorin would turn and head out, after silently estimating how much more Mili’s stomach had inflated from her pregnancy. The red-haired woman was just about a week away from giving birth.

“Are you ready for everything?” asked Thorin, a little apprehensive as she dragged his hand to touch her belly and feel the strange, fluttery motion below her skin that was the sign that the baby was moving.

“Mahal knows if I’ll ever be ready!” she replied, an ecstatic smile on her face, as she nearly glowed in response, “But the room is made, and Gloin’s run at least nine drills on how to get to the hospital. We’ve picked out a name already and I suppose at this point, it’s now or never, right?”

She giggled at the idea, brushing out a strand of red hair that had fallen out of her bun. Mili was shorter than most of the family, with straight red hair and freckles along her nose. She was always accompanied by a smile and a vicious sense of humor. She also had Gloin wrapped around her finger in a manner that Thorin had never quite understood. The man was crazy about her, and though she was very lovely, Thorin couldn’t understand such a fierce attraction at all.

“Can we hold the baby when he gets here?” asked Fili softly, cozying up to his auntie and staring at her belly in wonder, probably trying to decipher how, exactly, the baby was going to get out of there. Kili was still under the impression that Mili was going to vomit the baby out. He seemed rather excited at the prospect of vomit. 

“Of course nidoy,” said Mili, brushing a hand through his hair, “Why don’t you take your nadadith and start the television. I’ll make some lunch in a bit, okay?”

The boys were off in seconds, hollering about the remotes, and Mili beaming fondly after them.

“Well,” said Thorin, clearing his throat, “I’d best be on my way.”

Mili snapped out of whatever thought she’d been having, and turned to look at Thorin with a nod, “Of course! How are things going at the classes?”

“Well enough,” hedged Thorin, not wishing to recap his last week of schedule conflicts with Mili.

As it turned out, Fili and Kili rather disliked the new implementation of bed-times, and strict times for breakfast, lunch, dinner and a snack. They absolutely despised the fact that they couldn’t just do as they liked at any time, especially as Thorin was using the schedule to help ease himself back into work.

Overall, it was rather tumultuous. And no doubt Mili would have it all out of the boys within a few minutes of his departure. She was rather sneaky like that. And he was going to miss having her as his babysitter.

As if reading his thoughts, Mili immediately asked, “Who's going to be watching the boys while I’m busy with the baby?”

Thorin swallowed his own disappointment as he said, “I have no idea.”

“Aren’t you going into work soon though?” asked Mili, putting a hand on her hip and wrapping another hand around her swollen belly, “I mean, Gloin put in his request for paternity leave the day I told him I’m pregnant!”

“Yes I am,” said Thorin uneasily, “But I haven’t found a daycare I think the boys will like, so until then, I’m going to take them into the office with me.”

“But not to the construction sites, right?” asked Mili, and there was no real question to her voice. Thorin merely nodded. She beamed again, and said with a sigh, “It’s going to be so nice to have Gloin at home with the baby. I wish Nirli and Dis had been here.”

There was a silence, as both thought of their late siblings, and the joy they’d have had with the new baby being born. Thorin clenched his face, as Mili’s face crumpled, and then she finally pulled herself together as she turned to Thorin with a watery smile and said, “But well, I guess we’re finally moving forward. Us with this baby, you adding a new chapter to your life.”

“I wish I had more time,” blurted Thorin, “I mean- I haven’t had the boys more than a few months. What if I’m going back to work too soon?”

Mili frowned, and just pet his shoulder as she said, “You’ll figure it out. Aren’t the classes there to help with that?”

Thorin nodded, and then turned from Mili’s white door to head out. As he drove away in his black car, he couldn’t help but glimpse back at the house in his rearview mirror. The pretty pinkish-red roof over the white panelled home, with Mili standing on the porch and waving him goodbye.

Gloin was going to have everything perfect.

Thorin was a little bit jealous.

* * *

This meeting of the decrepit fathers was like all others, and yet, like none at all. By now, the six men had developed enough of a camaraderie that before Gandalf entered the room, there was a bit of light chatter. For the most part, Thranduil stuck to Elrond, though he exchanged pleasantries with Bard, and Dori gravitated around all the groups, while Thorin stayed towards the edge, exchanging his own pleasant greeting with Dori and Bard. Bilbo Baggins was noticeably late to arrive.

When he did, the man looked exhausted and certainly unwell. His clothes were wrinkled, lacking the neatly pressed edges that had once been his fashion. His hair was a mess, the curls shining with grease, most likely because the man hadn’t had time to shower. And his finger had a bandage wrapped around it.

All in all, he looked exactly like Thorin had the week after Fili and Kili had first become his responsibility.

Frodo was not treating him well.

Nobody approached the exhausted man at first, as he slid into his chair and looked like he may or may not pass out any minute now. Then Elrond broke away, and the two began to speak softly to each other, and Thorin felt a little annoyed, especially when Elrond brushed a stray curl from Bilbo’s face.

More than that though, he felt vindicated.

Perfect Bilbo Baggins was struggling with everything just as much as he was.

And then Gandalf entered the room.

“Well men,” called Gandalf with a beaming smile that made Thorin sick just looking at it, “It’s time to go over last week’s schedule making and run through how things went. What were that advantages and disadvantages of a schedule? Bilbo?”

The man in question looked very disappointed at being called on, and if it was possible for curls to droop like puppy-tail’s, then Bilbo Baggin’s curls had drooped all the way down as he stared with wide-eyed pain at Gandalf.

“Frodo doesn’t like schedules,” said Bilbo uneasily, “It didn’t really work. At all. Frodo doesn’t even have his own internal clock. He’s teething right now.”

Gandalf nodded, looking at Bilbo with sympathy. Thorin could see most others also sharing sympathetic nods and glances with the man. Not Thorin though. He hadn’t ever been there when Kili and Fili had been teething. And now he was merely grateful that they’d skipped over such a strenuous phase of their life and instead burdened their mother and father.

“Not all the times can a schedule work off the bat,” said Gandalf easily, “Sometimes it takes work, and we have to make little adjustments here and there. And sometimes, thing happen in life that turn our schedules around, making it very difficult to continue. Such as teething. Being a parent is all about adapting! Let’s break up into groups again and discuss techniques for adapting. Bilbo, Elrond and Thorin. Thranduil, Bard and Dori.”

Thorin shuffled over uneasily towards the two men in question, and he was just settling in, when Elrond turned his full attention to Bilbo, looking every bit concerned as the taller man reached out and petted Bilbo’s shoulder. And off they went.

“Did you try the teething ring I sent over? It was Arwen’s favorite when she was little.”

“Frodo only likes the bone, the one that I picked up haphazardly at the supermarket. Whenever I try and give him another toy to chew on, he gets upset! He’s chewing on a dog-toy, Elrond,” said Bilbo, seemingly hysterical over this fact, “Oh god, I gave a child a dog-toy!”

Elrond gave a small smile, petting Bilbo’s shoulder gently as the younger man looked like he was heading for a nervous breakdown. Thorin had never felt so entirely alone in a group before.

“I’m sure it’s quite alright. The toys are perfectly safe,” said Elrond, coaxing Bilbo down to a more normal level of panic, “Besides, all babies are different. I’m sure that you’re doing just fine!”

“But what if he grows up with deformed teeth?!”

“There are so many options, braces-

“No Baggins has ever needed braces! Oh god, I’m going to be an even worse parent then Lobelia and Otho!”

“No you’re not, I was just teasing. Bilbo, Frodo is going to be perfectly fine. You’re worrying too much.”

“He also likes my fingers to chew on... Is that bad for him?”

“Not at all, as long as you’re washing your hands.”

“I ran out of a bottle of soap washing them this week.”

“Bilbo, that’s probably worse for the both of you.”

And thus, Thorin spent the majority of the meeting time staring at the two with a growing sense of shame and discomfort and some other uneasy feeling that he wrote off as a bad breakfast.

* * *

At the end of the meeting, Thranduil was feeling even more and more out of his element. For one thing, he hadn’t been able to connect in the slightest to Dori and Bard’s discussions. The two seemed to have so much in common, including a love for seafood, an attachment to various brands of water, and a perfect insight to how the schedules were failing.

Thranduil had only implemented his part of the schedule, and Haldir was taking care of the rest. Thus, he’d had hardly any discomfort with getting a schedule in order. In fact, it was now allowing him to spend a little more time with his children. Legolas delighted in telling him every single thing he did, from dawn to dusk. Tauriel was far more subdued, and preferred instead to make a clever quip once in a while.

To his utter dismay, most of those quips were about him. Haldir’s twitching lips suggested that they were fuelled by another source. Thranduil had considered firing the man, but the kids were too attached, and Haldir would probably just be back in a day’s time, being paid double what he was now.

It was so hard to find a good nanny.

Worse still was the new menace, Bilbo Baggins. Thranduil was fuming as he got into Elrond’s dark navy Porsche, unable to get the images out of his head. Elrond had spent the entire day trading stories with Bilbo, laughing at things he said, looking ever so concerned, and then worst of all, touching him. A hand on his back, on his shoulder, once even in Bilbo’s hair! What sort of game was this brat playing?

“This was a rather lovely session,” said Elrond, as he started the car and began to pull out of the parking spot, “And I can’t wait to bring the children by next week. They need a larger play group. I fear Elladan and Elrohir are bothering their younger siblings far too much with all their pent up energy.”

Thranduil gave a strangled hum in reply, before gathering the courage to-

Ring! Ring! Ring!

His phone had gone off. With a huff, Thranduil removed his cellphone, a pretty and sleek black square with a red case, covered in leaves the same colour as Tauriel’s hair, and swiped the screen to pick it up to-

“Ada!” came Legolas and Tauriel’s voice.

Surprised, but not entirely so, Thranduil gave Elrond an apologetic smile as he answered, “Hello babies. What’s wrong? Where’s Haldir?”

“He said we could call you,” began Legolas, the louder son of his apparently ecstatic to speak up, “Ada, Haldir made these things called bus sprouts! They’re icky so I gave them to Tauriel! She likes them! Is it because she has cooties? Haldir said you make med-ice for that. We need to give her med-ice before she starts to eat her chocolate with bites instead of licks!”

Thranduil’s eyebrow twitched. Haldir liked his jokes far too much to be a good nanny.

“Medicine,” corrected Thranduil, “I make medicines, and someday, so will you.”

Legolas giggled into the phone, “No I won’t! I’m going to make robots! Taury wants the phone! Should I give it to her?”

“Yes please,” said Thranduil, smiling softly at his son’s exuberance, “Let me talk to your sister.”

“Check if she has cooties! Maybe do’tor Elrond can fix it!” said Legolas, apparently in his best attempt to whisper quietly, which was really a loud squeaky yell, and was entirely useless as Tauriel took the phone.

“Your gwanur seems excited,” said Thranduil into the phone as Tauriel huffed her own disappointment, “How is my gilgalad?”

“Bored,” whined the child, “I like the bus sprouts. Legolas threw them at Haldir.”

Thranduil quietly snorted, and then was asked, “Where are you ada?”

“In the car with Dr. Elrond,” said Thranduil, and caught his long-time friend’s smile, returning it with one of his own.

“Oh,” said Tauriel, pausing before asking, “Did you kiss?”

Thranduil gaped widely for a moment, and then spluttering asked, “Where did you learn that!? Why on the- Why would-

“You didn’t kiss?” asked Tauriel, sounding disappointed, “Bet you got scared, didn’t you? That’s stupid ada. Dr. Elrond would make a nice ada too, but only if we don’t have to keep Elladan and Elrohir.”

Thranduil grimaced, and with a solemn vow to fire Haldir in the morning, he curtly cut the conversation off with, “I’ll be home soon. Be good for Haldir.”

“Na van?” demanded Legolas in the background.

“Soon. In the hour,” said Thranduil quietly, “Before bed.”

“Bye ada!” they both said, and then the phone disconnected.

For a few moments, Thranduil sat and collected his thoughts, trying and failing to understand how Tauriel understood the situation, or where she may have even gotten such ideas from.

And then to his sudden surprise, Elrond asked, “What was that about?”

And Thranduil could only limply dodge the question.

* * *

Meanwhile, Thorin found himself on the other end of a volley of angry yells from the man half his size. The tiny little man, one Bilbo Baggins, was standing beside his rather pathetic looking Toyota, and yelling at Thorin for being a ‘presumptuous jerk!’.

And okay, maybe Thorin deserved it just slightly.

It had all really started when Thorin had marched over and told Bilbo that he was offering his help. That the boys missed Bilbo and that he was wondering the man would join them for dinner sometime this week. It wasn’t because he had issues with Elrond, far from it, in fact. No, Thorin was merely trying to be a nice guy.

Bilbo Baggins didn’t understand niceties.

“You think that I’m just going to jump into bed again with you?!” hissed Bilbo, looking a bit deranged as his curls bopped out of his head, and he flailed his arms widely.

Maybe Thorin had insinuated a bit too much that he had no interest in Bilbo beyond that of a friend. And even then, distant friends at best. Thorin wasn’t quite sure when his attempts to be nice had gone off the rails, maybe before he had said, “As long as you understand that this is merely about the children and I have no sexual interest in you,” or maybe after he had said, “Not that you aren’t attractive, but well, I think we both agree that it was a silly thing and that we could do far better.” He had meant that they could do better then a one night stand, but instead his stupid mouth had continued on to say, “And you’re struggling quite a bit with everything on your plate.”

Bilbo had lost it.

“You- You just stay away from me you- you- ugh!” cried Bilbo with a sense of finality, as he got into his car.

Thorin, a little irked at the way things had gone, and apparently with the Durinson lack of sense, loudly replied, “I was just trying to be polite, Mr. Baggins. Guess not all of us remember how to be polite when we get handed a kid out of the blue!”

And with that, he strode off, leaving a furious Bilbo Baggins in the parking lot.

He was only slightly thrilled that this time, he’d gotten the last word in.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> nidoy = Boy  
> nadadith = younger brother
> 
>  
> 
> Sindarin translations:  
> Ada = dad  
> gwanur = younger brother  
> gilgalad = starlight  
> Na van = when


	7. The Kids Are Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the kids are finally introduced to one another. Thranduil thinks it's going rather well. Thorin, however, has reservations.

“Do’tor Elrond’s here!” squealed Legolas, as he hung by the window, excitedly pointing at the large Ford SUV that pulled into the drive-way. Elrond’s family car.

Despite having six children between the two of them, and living almost an hour and a half apart, Elrond had offered to drive the group to Beorn’s place for this weekend. It was positively baffling, especially as Beorn lived closer to the middle of Thranduil and Elrond’s homes. Thranduil lived in a large penthouse apartment with his two children, right in the heart of his business. He lived in Mirkwood Towers, the very same building that doubled as his office. It made the commute to work much easier.

On cue, Elrond called Thranduil to let him know that he was waiting downstairs. It wasn’t difficult to usher the children out of the house, with Haldir pressing snacks and lunches into their hands and giving Thranduil his best, “I-doubt-you-can-handle-this” look.

Thranduil had yet to fire the man.

Once they were downstairs, Elrond got of of the car and opened the large blue door of his car. Thranduil never understood why the man insisted on getting all the same colors for his cars. It was just so boring.

Inside the car were four children, all strapped into their car-seats. In the very back were Arwen and Estel. Arwen was the spitting image of her mother Celebrian, with Elrond’s dark hair curling around her delicate and pointed features. Her eyes were firmly entrenched into a book that looked far too advanced for a mere five year old. Estel, on the other hand, was a full head shorter than Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir, and he had wavy dark brown hair and a chubby face that looked like it had just been bawling minutes ago. The cocky smirks across Elladan and Elrohir’s faces were probably the answer to that, the miniature copies of Elrond lacking all of his firm dignity and proud faces.

“Gi suilon,” the children chorused inside the car, and Thranduil replied in kind.

“A Uncle Elrond!” said Tauriel brightly, “Where can I sit?”

“Well, I thought Legolas could sit behind with Arwen and Estel, and Tauriel could sit between the twins,” said Elrond, glancing at Thranduil warmly for approval.

“The twins can’t bother Tauriel too much,” said Thranduil with a shrug, “Let’s strap them in.”

Legolas was easily strapped in, and he and Estel began to trade tales of what Ranger Blue had done on television this week. Legolas was dressed in olive-green overalls and a white and blue striped shirt. Estel was wearing a blue pair of shorts and a dark red t-shirt with The Rangers across it. Arwen, unlike Tauriel dressed in a pretty dresses, like the yellow flowery print sundress she wore today, her hair pulled back by a pretty white head-band with a yellow flower on it. Tauriel, conversely, dressed in red shorts, her hair in pig-tails and her yellow shirt had Merida, her knew hero, on it with a bow and arrow.

Elladan and Elrohir made immediate work of tugging on the pony-tails, only to be whacked in shoulder by Tauriel, who glowered at them stubbornly. They turned instead to taunt the younger boys, mocking the Rangers the entire car-ride up, until finally Elrond had to order them to silence because Legolas was near tears and Estel had started screaming.

Throughout it all, Arwen had read her book, and Tauriel had spilled water onto Elladan’s bright green pants, that matched his brother’s, as revenge for teasing Legolas. The two then insisted on stopping on the road to change into an equally bright pair of red pants, which clashed terribly with their blue polos. Most likely, Lindir had tried to dress the two to resemble the stateliness of their father.

As if those two could accomplish such a thing.

All in all, by the time they arrived, Thranduil was feeling a great sense of relief. Until they got out of the car.

The twins had bopped along ahead, excited to explore the farm, whereas Estel and Legolas were much shyer, and had decided the best place to hide was right on Thranduil’s legs. Elrond had gone ahead to keep a hold of the twins, leaving Thranduil with all four children, attached to him like leeches, sucking away at his energy.

“Ranger Blue went to a farm once,” whispered Estel to Legolas, “And he beat up the Wargs all by himself!”

“I want a sword like Blue’s! Ada said I could get one for my birthday or Christmas,” said Legolas brightly, “Whichever one comes first.”

“Christmas is first,” said Arwen gently, “It’s in December.”

“How far away is that?” asked Legolas, curious.

“In a few months,” replied Thranduil easily, as he slowly moved his four satellites up to the steps of Beorn’s barn.

“How long’s a month?” asked Legolas.

“January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow,” sang Tauriel, wiggling her fingers like the actions of the song told them to, “Feb-rary brings the rain, thaws the frozen pond again! January brings the snow, makes our feet, and fingers glo-oo-oww!”

On and on she sang, giving Thranduil a bit of a headache as they reached the steps finally. She only knew the first two lines of the rhyme, and somehow, each time she sang it, it was to a different tune. At least they sounded somewhat nice.

At the steps, Elrond had gotten a grasp of Elladan and Elrohir, and for the first time since Thranduil had known them, they were perfectly still. And the reason for that, was of course, the one and only Mr. Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo was holding a bundle in his arms, that was propped up on it’s shoulder, and was most definitely chewing a bone in his mouth. The tiny baby had dark curly hair, much like his father, that bobbed around his face, and big blue eyes that were staring at everyone with as much wonder as a baby could.

Immediately, the four satellites broke up, three gravitating to the baby, and Tauriel coming twice as close to her father, not singing any longer. The baby that Bilbo was holding was drooling spit all over the bone. He was wearing a blue shirt with a puppy on it, and brown cargo shorts, his little feet devoid of shoes.

“May I hold him?” asked Elrond gently, and then Bilbo was passing the babe over, and Elrond was taking the child with so much care that Thranduil felt himself pausing just to watch as Elrond bent his head and tickled the boy’s nose with his nose. Frodo cooed in reply.

For an inexplicable moment, they looked like a perfect family, as Elrond smiled caringly at Bilbo, and the curly-haired man beamed back at Elrond, looking far more rested this week than he had the last. Why, Frodo’s dark curls fit perfectly with Elrond’s dark-haired family. It was like he slotted in far easier than Legolas did with his bright blonde hair.

“Whose that?” asked Tauriel, tugging on his legs, “Ada?”

“A friend of Elrond’s,” replied Thranduil, feeling a tightness in his chest, “Come along, gilgalad, let’s go say hello to his new curly-haired Cupid that apparently can attract anyone with just a bat of his lashes.”

Tauriel frowned, and then, very softly whispered, “You’re prettier daddy.” Thranduil brightened at the comment, only for her to add, “But you’re kind of a coward. Why don’t you just say something?”

If only it were that simple.

* * *

Entering the place put Thranduil in an even worse mood. For one thing, Legolas and Estel were fascinated by the baby. The twins quickly lost interest when they realized that all Frodo could do was babble and chew on his bone. The bone was the most irritating thing, especially when Thranduil realized that the two were sharing some kind of inside joke over the chew toy.

Elrond and Bilbo just had to look at Frodo and they’d chuckle like schoolboys. Thranduil wasn’t jealous that Bilbo was making Elrond laugh with just a simple look. He was merely concerned. Elrond didn’t laugh like that with just anyone. Namely just Thranduil. But that was merely even a greater cause for concern!

Inside the centre, Arwen had her book under her hand, and was clinging to her father, not ready to go socialize with the other kids, who were literally all over the place. Bard had arrived first, and with him, came three children. His daughters, Sigrid and Tilda looked very much alike, both with light brown hair, and brown liquidy eyes. Their hair was pulled back into two matching buns, and they had freckles smattered over their noses. They even wore similar blue dresses, Sigrid’s a plaid pattern, and Tilda’s a flowery pattern. His son wore blue overalls and a white t-shirt, and was clinging to his father’s leg, while staring at Beorn suspiciously. He was rather like Estel in that, similar height and glare.

 _Shouldn’t the giant man be locked up somewhere?_ thought Thranduil viciously. 

“Da! There’s a baby!” shouted Tilda, as she pointed at the little boy in Bilbo’s arms, “Can I look at the baby?”

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Baggins,” said Bard, his smooth drawl washing over the children, “And indoor voice Tilda.”

The girl didn’t look the least bit chastised, and instead had grabbed Sigrid’s arm and was pulling her to look at the baby, who was looking at them with equal interest.

“What’s his name? Does he poop himself? Bain said I pooped myself as a baby but he's stupid,” demanded Tilda, standing before Bilbo and looking at Frodo with reverence.  

“His name is Frodo,” said Bilbo, looking fairly amused at the rather rude child, “And he’s still a baby, so yes, he uses a diaper and poops in it.”

“Ew,” said Tilda, nose curling.

“Why can’t he use a toilet?” asked Legolas, most distressed at this sudden development, “Is- Is he pooping himself now?!”

“Legolas!” chastised Thranduil, only for Bilbo Baggins to interrupt with his oh so thespian style of parenting.

“It’s fine, just a little healthy curiosity,” said Bilbo with a smile at Thranduil, “The toilet’s too big for him Legolas, and he’s still little. All babies poop themselves, even I did! Even your dad did when he was a baby. It’s natural. And Frodo isn’t right now, you’ll be able to smell it if he does.”

“Eww,” cried all the children, Tilda going as far as to clap her hands over her nose and scrunch up her tiny freckled face. Frodo squealed in delight, dropping his chew-toy to the ground, only for Estel to retrieve it and hand it up to Bilbo with a most determined expression, as though touching the baby's poo. 

Sigrid, bored with the conversation, had instead turned to the rather shy Arwen, and then with a sudden gasp of delight asked, “Is that Dr. Seuss? I love Dr. Seuss books! Which one is your favorite?”

And suddenly, quiet tot Arwen was babbling away, discussing the merits of the fine literature that was Dr. Seuss with one Sigrid Bowman. The two girls drifted off to look at Sigrid’s bag of books, leaving Thranduil to watch Elrond gravitate even closer to the baby and Bilbo, as the children continued to ask ridiculous questions about what babies can and cannot do.

At least Tauriel was still beside him.

And then his little girl gave out a cry.

The two turned to see that Bain had abandoned the marvellous giant Beorn for a new fascination.

“You’re hair is red,” said the boy shyly, “Why is it red?”

“That’s right, my hair is red. It’s the way I was born!” said Tauriel, placing her hands on her hips as she scowled, “But you shouldn’t pull on my hair, it hurts!”

“I like your hair,” said Bain decidedly, before shrugging and asking, “Do you like to play cops and robbers? I’m the best cop in the whole entire world.”

And Thranduil is certainly and definitely all on his own as Tauriel’s face lit up at the prospect of a game.

“Good to see the kids are getting along,” said Bard, as he came to stand with Thranduil, the velvet voice relaxing Thranduil’s shot nerves, “Where’s your nanny? Haldir, right?”

Well, maybe not entirely alone.

* * *

Thorin was surprised to arrive and see Dori at the door. Apparently, struggling. His younger brothers were dressed like night and day. Nori was wearing a black t-shirt, with eyeliner around his eyes, his brown hair in an intricate looking hairstyle, sticking out at various ends around his head, and tight skinny jeans with chains hanging from them. Ori, by contrast, was wearing a yellow pair of shorts and a bright orange t-shirt, his red hair patted down under a white hat.

Dori looked like he was glaring at Nori, who looked sullen at being brought to such a place.

“It’s for babies,” hisses Nori to his older brother, before catching site of Thorin.

Fili and Kili were enamored by Nori already, his strangeness attracting their attention. Thorin could only give Dori a look that he hoped appropriately displayed his sympathy. Nori looked like quite a menace indeed. Thorin glanced over at Dori, who looked resigned to his fate.

“These are your brothers?” asked Thorin politely, “It’s nice to meet them. This are my nephews, Fili and Kili.”

“How’d you get the snake to stick on your ear?” asked Fili, mesmerized at the green snake cuff-earring elongated across Nori’s ear.

“It’s a piercing,” said Nori with a taken aback look, “It’s permanent.”

“I don’t like it,” said Kili with a frown, nose scrunched up to express his distaste.

“Tough,” tossed Nori back, as Ori quietly said to Kili, “I don’t like it either!”

Nori threw his head back in disgust, before stomping on inside. Dori glared behind him, while Ori clung to his brother’s leg. Or maybe it was Dori’s hand clasped tightly to his little brother’s shoulder keeping the boy from spreading his wings. By contrast, Fili and Kili were flapping a little too hard, surrounding Ori with fascination.

“Do you know how to do a handstand? I do!” said Kili eagerly, always the little peacock in front of someone new.

“Don’t try it outside Kili,” murmured Thorin, as he turned to Dori and nodded as he said, “Shall we head inside?”

Dori nodded, glancing worriedly and then murmuring, “Nori gets himself into trouble really easily.”

Thorin didn’t doubt it.

And with that, they headed inside to begin the first meeting with the kids. Thorin presumed this was going to be a very interesting Saturday. And as he regarded the children, Thorin was almost positive that Kili was going to try do to a handstand.

* * *

Inside the meeting, to Thorin’s genuine surprise, Kili and Fili seemed to stick to the quieter Ori. The other children seemed to have split off into groups, and to Thorin’s relief, Kili and Fili were so excited about Ori, who was rather plain and monitored a bit too heavily by Dori, that the other children had yet to register. Especially Bilbo Baggins and his baby.  

The annoying man was huddled off in the corner with his sleeping baby, quietly laughing about something with Elrond. Thorin had almost wished Frodo was louder and crankier just to see Bilbo off-key and flustered.

“See, I can stand on both my hands!” called Kili’s voice, and Thorin immediately turned his head, it moved so fast he almost got whiplash.

There was Kili, rolling onto his head, and it was just an accident waiting to happen. Thorin was about to head over and grab him as he wobbled on his hands, while Ori and Fili looked on in awe and boredom. The familiar red-haired girl had sauntered over, a boy that looked suspiciously identical to Bard beside her.

And to Thorin’s amazement, the boy did it. He stood on his hands for a few seconds, and then he fell over. He landed on his knees, but immediately began to bawl, and Thorin felt flustered. He caught Bilbo staring at the scene, and then immediately looking at him, and a frown gracing his lips. And once again, Thorin looked like the fool.

“Don’t cry,” said the red-haired girl, as Bain looked worriedly at Kili from behind her. She bent down beside Kili and kissed her palm, and then patted Kili’s scraped knees, “There, now the pain’s gone away. That’s what Haldir says anyways. Do you feel better?”

Kili stared at her, face wet with tears and snot, and then, to Thorin amazement, he swallowed them back and nodded, scrubbing at his own eyes. Fili looked awed as well, and then quickly turned it back into a scowl. For whatever reason, Ori imitated the actions.

“Kili, are you alright?” asked Thorin, bending down beside the boy, who looked at Thorin in wonder as though he had appeared out of the air.

“S’all better,” he said, kissing his own palm and then petting the scrape, “Haldir says so.”

And then the name registered.

“You’re the little girl from the grocery store, with the nanny,” said Thorin, turning to stare at the girl, crouched beside Kili and looking perfectly at ease.

“Well, yeah,” she said, apparently unimpressed. “He’s the crybaby.”

“Not a crybaby!” said Kili fiercely, “It hurted and now it’s better!”

“What do you say when someone helps you out?” asked Thorin, remembering the book he’d read on manners the other day to the boys.

“Thanks a bunches!” said Kili, beaming at Tauriel, “Hey, do you want to see my cartwheel?”

“No cartwheeling indoors!” ordered Thorin sternly, “Or handstands. Why don’t you play a nicer game?”

The boys looked at each other, and then Tauriel, and then back at Thorin.

“Cartwheeling sounds more fun,” said Fili reluctantly, “Kili’s getting really good at it Uncle Thorin.”

“No!” said Thorin sternly, and all the children looked at him as though he’d told them there was no Christmas coming.

And then, from seemingly nowhere, two identical boys, the oldest in the room appeared, looking flushed and excited in brightly coloured, mismatched clothes that almost blinded Thorin’s eyes, and they glanced at the group before announcing, “The Giant Man called Bear says he’s can lift four people at once!”

And all the children went off, leaving Thorin in the dust.

Gandalf approached Thorin, beaming at him as he said, “Nice to see they’re making friends isn’t it? It’s so important to have a strong circle of friends these days.”

Thorin glanced at the man, and nodded, “Ori and the red-haired girl seem sweet.”

“That’s Tauriel, she’s Thranduil’s daughter,” stated Gandalf, “And the boy attached to her hip is Bain, Bard’s son. The twins are Elrond’s oldest sons.”

Thorin nodded, taking it all in and then- “What do you mean Thranduil’s daughter?!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin translation: 
> 
> Ada = Dad   
> Gi Suilon = I greet you  
> A = Hi   
> gilgalad= starlight


	8. Nori Investigates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely in Nori's point of view. He's pretty good at eavesdropping, even if it's just on a bunch of old guys.

Nori really hated his older brother Dori. And by hate, he meant supremely and terribly and awfully hated his brother. Not enough to wish him dead. Just enough to wish him to be trapped in the bathroom after Bombur, Bifur and Bofur had all used it. On chili night.

Would serve the fucker right.

This entire parenting thing was all so goddamn boring. Nori could have had a hot date today. There was a pretty girl named Helga who sat four rows across from him in Computer Science. And she and her boyfriend were totally cool with the other screwing around. Maybe.

Either way, Nori could have had better things to do.

Instead, he was spending the day keeping his brother from bothering Ori and preventing the kid from ever making any friends. If it were up to Dori, the kid would still be at home because other kids ‘played too rough’. Like seriously, Dori needed to grow up and get over his issue with boundaries. Namely, interfering in Nori and Ori’s boundaries.

“Did you see that? What if Fili had spilled his juice on him?! I only brought two spare shirts!” asked Dori, clucking like a worried mother as Fili eagerly shoved his plate at Ori, nearly knocking over a cup.

Beorn ‘The Bear Man’ had wheeled out a large lunch just moments prior. It was mostly comprised of make your own sandwiches, large pitchers of juice and milk, as well as coffee for the adults. Dinner was fruit, of all things. Totally lame. Bombur would have made a way more awesome lunch, and seriously, Bofur would have probably let Nori have the coffee, unlike Dori and his ‘caffeine is bad for growing boys’ spiel.

“Then Ori would have gotten wet,” said Nori boredly, glancing around with disdain at the many children at this thing. “Live a little Dori!”

“He could get sick!” hissed Dori back, “What if he got sick?”

“Then we’d give him some cough medicine. I know a guy who makes his own,” said Nori, and Dori immediately glowered at Nori, and like the complete poncy jackass he was, he replied, “We’re not using Ori as a drug trial.”

Nori scowled. As if he was going to let Ori try drugs. Sometimes, Dori could be a real idiot. Having had enough of his brother, Nori drifted away. So much for an interesting day. All he was going to get out of today was probably some snot on his t-shirt, and a bunch of old dudes with no ladies or other dudes in their lives telling him that he was ‘going off the rails’. Whatever that meant.

* * *

The first person Nori gravitated for was Bilbo. Usually, when Dori got into a strop, Bilbo was the best person to talk his brother out of being a general douchebag. To his surprise, however, Bilbo was attached to the hip of some random stranger. A stranger with his dark hair slicked back, in a fancy schmancy shirt and watch, holding Frodo and giggling with Bilbo as though they were like, new BFFs.

“You know, I haven’t held a baby since I held Arwen. Celebrian was so worried I’d drop her even then, and we’d just finished going through the baby stages with the twins and she somehow had convinced herself I had forgotten everything. But I have to tell you, Arwen was a screamer when upset,” said the man. Dori had mentioned his name earlier, but all Nori remembered was it had something to do with circles, “And Frodo’s much quieter than she was. I almost can’t believe this is the baby you were texting me about.”

“He’s only good when there’s a crowd over,” said Bilbo, smiling fondly at Frodo as though the baby was his whole world. And like, for a bachelor who lived alone and with no romantic prospects, he kind of was, “Precocious little brat, isn’t he?”

“You want precocious brats, let’s trade the twins for Frodo,” said Elrond with easy sarcasm, “It’ll make you think twice about being afraid of a little baby. I have to have three people to make sure that my family runs smoothly.”

Rich bastard! The only nanny Dori ever got for Ori was Nori! And he wasn’t even getting paid. Instant douche. And what the hell was he doing cozying up to Bilbo like that? Their shoulders were totally touching. Nori had spent a good deal of like, twenty bucks betting with Bifur that Bilbo and Bofur were going together. Not cool.

“Hey Bilbo,” said Nori, sidling up beside his friend, “Whose this?”

“Oh!” said Bilbo, looking surprised, “Nori, this is Dr. Elrond Peredhil. Elrond, this is Nori, Dori’s younger brother.”

Elrond looked up in surprise, and then a smarmy smile graced his features as he said, “Pleasure to meet you Nori.”

Nori raised an eyebrow at the falsity of that. Nobody was pleased to meet Nori. They were surprised, sometimes regretful, but never pleased. Smarm to the core. Nori glanced at the sleeping Frodo and said, “He’s drooling on you.”

The guy didn’t even twitch as he replied, “They tend to do that. I don’t really worry about it until it’s poop.”

Nori paused. Okay, so not a total rich douche. Just the ordinary sort of douche. Not bad Bilbo. But still not like, Bofur levels cool. And if Bofur and Bilbo got together, then Nori totally had plans to move into their guest room, away from Dori, who was silently stalking Ori around the room like the giant creepy guy he was.

And then there was a crash.

Elrond automatically turned, and sighed as he handed Frodo back to Bilbo, the baby finally having squirmed, indicated that apparently, all it took to wake up was a rather loud crash. Not tonnes of laughter yells, but the full on crash of what appeared to be about three barrel-shaped chairs colliding to the floor. No burglar alarm needed Bilbo. Frodo would take care of everything, the light sleeper he was.

“The twins,” said Elrond apologetically, “Excuse me.”

And he was off to the corner to deal with that. You know, for a rich dude, he really should keep a better eye on his kids. Hell, for a room of parents, somebody should have noticed those kids sneaking the chairs up onto each other.

“Don’t even think about taking those two under your wing,” said Bilbo automatically, as Frodo began to pucker his lips up, seeming to gather air to begin wailing at being woken up so rudely from the middle of his nap.

“That level of sneakiness, I could have them building a Molotov in like, an hour,” said Nori, only half-joking. Bilbo glared at him. Nori quelled under the look. You didn’t argue with a Bilbo glare.

And then Frodo wailed.

All eyes turned from Elrond scolding his sons to the wailing baby in the room, that had probably hit like, 140 decibels or something with the level of shrieking this kid did. Like seriously. Did he not notice that there were other people around? With ears. Nori ducked away almost automatically, as Bilbo sniffed the air and sighed, heading off to the bathroom to change the kid’s diaper.

Nori waited a few moments, checking out the total country-hick decor. They floor made of like, yellow tile fashioned to look like hay, the panelled walls. Hell, the place even smelled like animal piss. Or maybe that was just the lingering smell of Frodo’s crap.

And then he went after Bilbo.

The bathroom was located down the hall from the main reception. It was one of those really fancy shindigs disguised as a small-town hicks loo. There was the first door, which lead to a bunch of toilet stalls, three to be exact, fashioned in brown wood and with panelled doors. The sinks were metal, with like, corn-husk handles that Nori had a sinking suspicion might actually be from real corn. There was a second door to the right of the entrance, to a secluded changing room for the babies that a parent might bring in.

Now, Nori was sort of like, totally a thousand times more sneaky than Dori ever knew. If he did, he’d probably install the alarm he kept threatening about onto Nori’s window. So it was no surprise that as he entered, neither voice inside the changing room heard him. And since Frodo didn’t talk, it totally meant that there were two people in there. Nori ducked into a bathroom stall.

What? It was pretty much a habit. And nobody was going to tell the teenager what the hell was going on.

“He’s cute,” grunted a deep male voice that again, Nori couldn’t place, “How is he at nights?”

There was a stilted moment, and then Bilbo replied, “Fine. I don’t need your help.”

“I told the kids this morning that we’re just business partners. They seem pretty engaged with the other kids, probably why they haven’t ambushed you for a story yet,” said the second voice, sounding almost apologetic.

“They’re good boys,” said Bilbo, sounding far calmer at the mention of the kids, “Are they having a good time? I wasn’t able to catch them earlier.”

“Well enough,” said the second voice, and then there was the awkward kind of pause that you sort of only saw in television. The kind that made some people uncomfortable, and that Nori relished, because seriously, awkward situations were so entertaining in real life. Case in point.

As the silence extended longer than it should have, Nori got bored, and considered popping out, only for Bilbo to finally speak up.

“Maybe we should put this all behind us,” he said at last, “I don’t want to make things awkward for you, and I mean, we see each other every week. Let’s call it a truce, shall we?”

“Agreed,” said the man relieved- and seriously, who was this guy? Bilbo like, only ever fought with Lobelia. And once he got angry, he held grudges. The man was vicious. All he ever got about Lobelia and Otho was something about spoons. And now Bilbo was calling a truce?

“So, we agree to act as though we’re merely, acquaintances, who met at a parenting group?” asked Bilbo firmly, “We don’t need to sully a relationship because of one night.”

What the hell? What was Bilbo- He couldn’t seriously be insinuating-

“The kids like you,” said the stranger Bilbo had apparently bumped uglies with, “And if it puts this matter to rest-

“Good,” said Bilbo, “And now he’s all changed up. Feeling better Frodo? All cleaned up?”

The baby began to babble, as Bilbo Baggins, the guy with the handkerchiefs and the ironing fetish and the doilies in his house, the guy who clucked at magazines with a girl revealing a bit too much cleavage (which was probably because the guy was gayer than Dori’s face, but also in part because he was a giant prude), left the room with his sexy bed-time partner of one night.

Nori came out of the bathroom, feeling like he had stepped into a world of the strange and foreign. Apparently, today was a little less boring than usual.

* * *

Now normally, after such a revelation as the bathroom revelation, Nori would have sneakily slipped around the room, trying to identify who the possible Baggins-gone-wild partner could be. However, Nori was a pretty smart cookie (don’t listen to Dori), and it didn’t take a hell of a lot of sleuthing to identify the partner in crime. They’d only mentioned boys, and second of all, only one man had such a gravelly, growly voice.

Nori had to congratulate Bilbo on his taste. Thorin was yummy looking. He probably bench-pressed Bilbo’s weight. Probably bench-pressed Bilbo right into the bed. Mrow. And also sort of gross, because, eww, Bilbo having sex. Gross. Almost as gross as Dori’s face.

Now to do some sleuthing. Because seriously, Thorin was like, the anti-Elrond. Elrond was all lean and rich and like, put-together. And he was a doctor. Thorin, on the other hand, was slouchy and built like a giant brick, and more often than not, if Kili or Fili fell over or did something weird (like try to wrap Ori up with Tauriel’s hair), he seemed completely taken aback, like it was a surprise that his kids were the strange weird kids who probably ate paste. Elrond was the kind of guy who knew his kids were the thieves, and resigned himself to cleaning up the mess. Anti-Thorin indeed.

So what had attracted Bilbo to Thorin?

Especially since they didn’t seem to get along in the slightest. Hell, from what Nori had gotten from the few details slipped in the bathroom, Thorin and Bilbo seemed to dislike each other quite a bite. Elrond seemed like the obvious choice for dirty hookup. He was cultured, like Bilbo. He probably kept doilies at home too. Thorin probably had never heard the word doily in his life before. That, or he ate doilies for breakfast along with a bowl of nails. Y’know, to soften them going down his gullet and building up his like, twelve-pack of abs.

The problem was, how did Nori subtly approach Thorin and tear apart his brain to find out all the sordid details of his affair? With boring Bilbo Baggins. Bifur was totally not going to believe this. Neither was Bofur, come to think of it. But then again, Bofur was Bilbo’s best friend. He probably already knew.

“So, have you considered dating again?” asked another voice, and Nori paused, slinking down into his chair, just enough to look sullen and not at all suspicious as he leaned over to listen into the conversation going on beside him.

Surprisingly, it was between Elrond, Thranduil and Bard. Bilbo had retreated with Frodo into a discussion with Gandalf and Beorn, leaving Elrond’s side for the first time all day. It was sort of a miracle. Nori could make out the question asker as Bard. The guy who had fathered the obnoxious little brat Tilda, the girl that had corralled Legolas and Estel into playing something that looked like a mix of ‘hide and go seek’ and ‘the floor is lava’. He also had the smaller brat Bain, the kid that had almost pulled Ori’s hair out, apparently fascinated with red hair, and nearly given Dori a coronary. Which might have actually been awesome if the kid had achieved it.

“Oh no,” said Thranduil first, the blond guy whose son was sort of a pushover brat, and the daughter was apparently now friends with Ori.

And so what if he had maybe learned all these old dudes names? He had been trying to identify the gossip of the office! Meeting group. Same deal.

“How come?” asked Elrond, looking genuinely surprised and missing the flash of annoyance on Thranduil’s face. Nori knew it pretty well, the twitch of the lip and the clench of the fingers. He used it all the time on Dori when he was being oblivious to the little things. Was Elrond Thranduil’s annoying and boorish older brother?

“I don’t have the time,” said Thranduil curtly, “I’m very busy, between the children and work. Dating is hardly a priority. Why aren’t you out looking?”

Elrond paused, considering the question, and then saying softly, “Few have ever made me feel like Celebrian have. I wouldn’t know where to start even if I did feel something.”

And he felt something?! Bilbo that dog! Two hot guys sparring for his affection. Maybe. This was even better then Dori’s soap operas that Nori really didn’t like, there was just that really hot chick named Evelyn who may or may not have stabbed her father in the back, literally, so that her boyfriend Aulauthar could escape prison. And Nori was only sort of curious as to whether Evelyn’s sister did or did not tell her mother that she was pregnant with Thorar’s baby. Not to mention the whole storyline with the aunt and her boyfriend’s twin who may or may not have replaced the boyfriend in a crazy attempt to take over his life.

Focus Nori!

“What about you Bard?!” asked Thranduil, sounding, if possible, quite unnerved at such a declaration.

“It was a divorce in my case,” said Bard with a wry grin, “So I’m not quite as hung up. My husband found a new partner and decided it was time to call it quits.”

And wasn’t that interesting? Details please.

Apparently Nori wasn’t the only one interested, because both men across from Bard looked quite interested. And Bard seemed alright sharing. What an awesome dude.

“It’s not an interesting story,” said Bard with a simple shrug, “I knew my husband in high school, we didn’t get along. We met again a few years later, still didn’t get along. The sex was phenomenal, and I had money and thought it was love. Then we went for surrogacy, and I always wanted a big family. Alfrid wasn’t too fond of things, but I didn’t listen. The sex started to run out, two more surrogate babies, and really, I should have caught on when Alfrid didn’t want to give his DNA, but I was young and simple. And then apparently the last straw was when the money began to go dry and I started to lose business. Next thing you know, Alfrid was running off with his boss and I was left with two children and one on the way and a business that had capsized.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Elrond, sounding quite sincere, “How did you manage to get through it?”

“Well, I got custody,” said Bard slowly, “And I sold the business to Alfrid’s husband, which was probably the lowest moment of the divorce. We downsized the house, and I decided that I’d be better off joining the police force. I mean, I’m good with a gun. My dad used to take me shooting when I was younger, and I had the best eye in the city. And to be honest, I’m a lot happier. The grocery chain was never really in my interest.”

“Adultery is still the worst thing that can happen,” said Thranduil harshly, “Your husband was a fool.”

Bard chuckled and gave a shrug as he said, “We all make mistakes. I’m sure you’ve made a mistake when you were young and in love, didn’t you?”

Before Thranduil could reply, Elrond interrupted and said, “If you gentlemen would excuse me, I’m just going to check that Estel and Legolas aren’t bothering Bilbo and Frodo.”

And Nori watched the man trudge across to where Estel and Legolas were fawning over the baby, looking excited that he was awake. Tilda had managed to crawl into Bilbo’s lap, holding Frodo like a little mother hen, and Bard didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Elrond was either a helicopter parent, or totally into Bilbo.

“Oh I think we’ve all made mistakes in love,” murmured Thranduil, straightening out the blazer of his suit, and really, what kind of person wore a suit to a kid’s event?

And then Nori got a look at Thranduil’s face, just gazing sullenly at Elrond and Bilbo, particularly when Bilbo gave a little laugh at something the debonair doctor said.

Oh.

Well then.

This shit just got interesting.

“Do tell,” asked Bard, apparently missing out on Thranduil’s expression, “I don’t want to be the only person sharing the dirty laundry without even a drink to make my lips loose.”

Thranduil turned to face Bard, seemingly shaken out of his reverie, and with a tiny shrug, he said, “It’s not quite as depressing as your story. I was young, my father was aging, and Greenwood companies is family-owned. Being the only heir with a dying father puts a lot of pressure on a person. Father wanted me to be married and have a child before he passed on. Don’t look like that, my father wasn’t a cruel man, and he wasn’t forcing me into any sort of arrangement, he was merely worried. I had never even brought home a woman before.”

“So what did you do?” asked Bard, as he and Thranduil leaned against the wall.

“Well,” said Thranduil slowly, “I did nothing at first. I had been in love with a long-time friend of mine for some time, but nothing was arising of that situation. And then he got engaged, and I was suitably devastated. So I decided, let’s go travel the world, see new things. Father got sicker and sicker, and when I returned, I had wasted two years of my life, and I was crushed because he hadn’t even told me he had cancer. I felt like I had disappointed him, and he was going on this spiel about he was afraid to leave me alone with no family and he mentioned my mother and I was just so overwhelmed in that moment, so I told him I had agreed to marriage, though I really hadn’t. And he was so happy he wept. Well, I had to find a bride, and being the heir of a booming company, I had a few proposals.”

“You just got married to a random stranger?” asked Bard, sounding amazed at the idea.

“Of course not,” rebuked Thranduil, looking distant, “I took Filauria on three dates, and we were wedded within three months.”

“And what happened to your friend?” asked Bard, gentler now, his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder, soothing and comforting.

“He came to the wedding with his pregnant wife,” said Thranduil, a distant expression on his face, “And he was so happy. So I devoted myself to Filauria, and I grew to love her. Her sister got sick and passed away, leaving behind Tauriel, so we took her in. Then she had Legolas. And I grew to love her. She was the mother of my children. And she was fierce and loving and she was delicate all at once. We were never the passionate, devil-may-care lovers, but we were the best of friends. She was my rock. And then she got sick with what her sister had. I had never bothered to check her medical records. It was a genetic disease, rare, and only expressed in certain phenotypes. It’s pure luck neither of the children had it. There was nothing that could be done. So I created Mirkwoods, specially designed to create pain medication for her. She got sicker and sicker, and then she was gone. Tauriel had just turned three.”

Bard said nothing. Nori felt distinctly uncomfortable having overheard all of that. It was just, well, ugh. Sad stories were for movies and Dori to cry over. Not be eavesdropped on. Ew.

“Ada! Ada!” called Legolas, crashing into his father’s leg with no regard for the fact that he had been running. His hands wrapped around Thranduil’s leg like a vice, the most determined expression on his face, “Where do babies come from? Fili and Kili said that they come out of bellies because you eat too much and it mutates into a baby!”

Behind him came Tilda and Estel, Estel looking quieter and nervous, Tilda striding like a Queen as she raised her hands for her father to lift her, which he obligingly did. Thranduil seemed to have entered a state of shock, while Tilda just met her father’s eyes, and then very slowly said, “You ate the wrong stuff when you made Bain and Sigrid da. They’re not as cool as I am.”

Bard chuckled, pressing his forehead to his daughter’s as he replied, “Is that so? Well, let me tell you a secret. When I had you, I only ate pizza and cookies.”

Tilda’s face lit up, and then Bard the grungy sort of dude who hung out in corners and looked sort of shady (but not as shady as Beorn did around kids), grabbed his daughter’s hand and began to gnaw at her fingers, teasingly adding on, “That’s why you’re the tastiest little girl I’ve got!”

Legolas and Estel turned to Thranduil, wide-eyed and terrified as Estel timidly asked, “You’re not going to eat us to make more babies, are you?”  

Thranduil, the seriously serious no-fun dude just sort of eyed the two of them, as though sizing them up, before replying, “If you’re naughty and I’m feeling a bit hungry-

They squealed and ran off, Tilda, squirming out of her father’s hands and running after them, yelling loudly that they didn’t want to be eaten. Kids. So naive and gullible. He was so going to convince Ori that Dori was going to eat him.

* * *

The session wrapped up early that day, and Gandalf had made the parents promise to bring the kids by again that day. With a wave of his hand, the parents headed off, Nori strapped into the car in the front seat, Ori all tuckered out and asleep in his car seat in the back.

“See,” began Dori, “It wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Nori had his arms crossed sullenly across his chest, as Dori began to drive home slowly. Like, below the speed limit slow.

With a heavy sigh, Dori shifted in his seat, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye before acquiescing, “Fine. Next week I’ll leave you with Bombur-

“No way!” argued Nori, “I’m so coming!”

And the beauty of it all was that Dori was so sure that Nori just lived to be contrary that Nori didn’t even have to share all the beauty of the drama that was going on at Beorn’s little farm. Next time, he was bringing a notebook.

 

 


	9. The Hottest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what- there's actually a plot somewhere?

The next meeting rolled around on the hottest day of the entire summer. The kids were bundled up in the Range Rover and they were just sweltering. Thorin couldn’t help but feel the same. His beard was stained with sweat, his eyebrows had droplets clinging to them, and he’d already sweat through a shirt. It was thus, with a heavy sort of heart, that when he arrived at the centre, he tossed the shirt into the trunk, and instead pulled on a white tank top he wore at construction sites.

The boys glared on in envy, both dressed in polos themselves.

“Well, you can’t blame me,” grunted Thorin, as both boys out-stretched their hands, too hot to even walk all the way to the barn, “I couldn’t go in all wet.”

Neither boy dignified him with a reply.

As they entered the reception hall, Thorin was surprised to see two strangers there. The first was a beautiful woman, far more beautiful than anyone Thorin had seen, with long blond hair that was pulled back into a neat pony-tail, and pale skin that seemed ethereal. Her eyes were sharp as she stood, murmuring something to Beorn, who looked enchanted by the woman. She wore an all white suit, cut low to reveal a white tank top inside the buttoned up balzer, her lips a pale pink.  She was so bizarrely out of place, standing in this barn beside Beorn of all people, and Thorin almost missed the second stranger.

The second stranger was about the same height as Thorin, maybe a little taller. He was a pale man, like the woman, but different. His paleness seemed like an illness, rather than the healthy glow that the lady gave off. Worse yet, his eyes were beady and dark, and his muscles were bulging inside the black shirt and jeans he wore, both ripped.

“Thorin,” said Gandalf, turning from the man and giving a smile, “This is Azog, he’s a father interested in joining our sessions. Azog, this is Thorin Durinson, one of the men who attends our sessions.”

Azog was shaved bald, his pale round head making him like an intimidating cue ball, which really, was sort of ridiculous but it was the best description of Azog that Thorin could suffice for the moment.

“Pleasure to meet you,” stated Thorin warily, extending a hand to greet the man with.

Azog merely gripped his tightly, and then let go. He turned to Gandalf and said, “I’m done here. I’ll call.”

And off he went. Gandalf stared after him, looking pensive. Even the boys were quiet, perhaps sensing Gandalf’s tension. Thorin glanced at the older man, but he merely gave Thorin a small smile and waved him on ahead. Thorin couldn’t help still feeling uneasy as he entered the main hall.

Inside the hall, only Bilbo Baggins and Bard were inside. Bain seemed relieved to see Fili and Kili, as his sisters were barricading the baby Frodo, who was gnawing on a bone toy of all things. The boy was so relieved, that he automatically ran over, his curly head bobbing beside the boys as they traded some sort of handshake, which involved a lot of flailing, a touch on their noses, and two fist bumps.

“Can I hold him?” asked Sigrid, looking at the baby curiously and ignoring the boys spectacle entirely.

“Of course you can,” said Bilbo, smiling kindly at the girl, “But you need to be sitting down to do so.”

And so Sigrid sat on the chair, a determined expression on her face as Bilbo placed Frodo on her lap. The baby was quiet, merely chewing on his bone toy as he stared up at Sigrid, as though questioning her mere existence in the realm of his life. His mother would see babies like that and say, “They’ll be philosophers, Thorin.” And when Dis argued that all babies looked like that, Valla would scoff and say, “You and your brothers never did. All of you just shook your fists and had stupid smiles. Though Frerin cried all the time. Not an ounce of deep thinking in your bodies.”

“Hello Thorin,” said Bard with a nod of his head, and when had he appeared right beside Thorin?

“Hello,” replied Thorin curtly, and then he stepped away from the man, taking this rare opportunity that Bilbo was mostly alone, as Sigrid and Tilda fawned over Frodo, Tilda from a distance, warily eying Frodo’s bum as though he was going to explode.

Awkwardly, Thorin took a seat beside the curly-haired man, who looked pleasantly surprised at Thorin approaching him. The darker-haired man stroked his beard, unsure of what he was going to say, or what he wanted to express in this moment. But somehow, he just wanted to make sure that Bilbo was doing alright.

“So, are you an Elrond an item now?” asked Thorin.

That wasn’t supposed to slip out. Thorin immediately blanked, failing to understand how he could have even fathomed asking such a thing. And then he turned to face Bilbo, who for once in his entire life, had gone completely silent. His jaw was slack, his eyes were wide, and he seemed to have lost his mind. Thorin knew exactly how he felt.

“Not that I care,” said Thorin, trying to save face, “I mean- We were never, and you have the right- I was just asking because- well-

“Mr. Boggins!” shouted the boys, saving Thorin from further embarrassment.

“Ah,” said Bilbo, still staring at Thorin as though he had grown a second, and even third, head in the span of a question.

“Mr. Boggins,” said Fili, taking the lead on this situation, as Thorin got up and crawled away with what was left of his pride, “Didn’t your cousin Otho drop a pinata on his sister?”

“It was a small pinata, and she was his cousin on his mother’s side,” replied Bilbo absently. Thorin could still feel those brown eyes boring into his back, judging him as he ran off, tail between his legs.

* * *

“All right!” called Gandalf, clapping his hands together as he entered the room.

Thranduil turned from his conversation with Bard and Elrond to face Gandalf. He was rather taken aback by this turn of events today. For one thing, he had arrived again with Elrond, his children (primarily his twin sons) once again being menaces. For another, Bilbo Baggins seemed to be actively doing his best to avoid any sort of conversation with Elrond, asides from polite greetings, and was hovering besides Dori, looking as though he had received some kind of great shock.

Thranduil wasn’t happy.

He wasn't! 

He was delighted.  

“So,” said the old man, as everyone in the room, even the unruly children, stopped and stared. Even Bilbo’s wailing baby Frodo had ceased crying, but that might have had to do with the bottle of milk he was now holding and suckling on. Beorn and a very familiar, beautiful blond woman flanked the man, looking like a strange trio of generals in front of a hopeless army.

“I was thinking,” began Gandalf, “For this session, we should return back to the counselling portion of today. I present to you, a long time friend of mine, Galadriel Lorien. She will be helping me run this session.”

“I didn’t know Gandalf knew Galadriel,” whispered Thranduil to Elrond, for if anyone knew the manner of this events, it would be Elrond.

“Grandma!” cried out Arwen, first to rush to the blond, and startling the crowd immensely.

“I had no idea she’d be here,” replied Elrond, startled himself, as his other three brats came running, chatting excitedly around the blond woman, who bent down to give them all hugs.

“She’s a grandmother?” asked Bard, looking incredulous as he stared at the blond and moved to stand beside Thranduil, “If there was ever a woman to catch my eye, she’d be the one! Wait- Elrond’s her -

“Son in law,” said Thranduil curtly, as he stared at the happy family, hushed and talking to one another quietly and laughing.

Bard whistled in clear appreciation, and the follow up question was expected, “Was her daughter-

“Beautiful,” replied Thranduil, a little stiffer than usual, “Beautiful and kind and good.”

“Yes, yes,” said Gandalf, over the murmured din of shock and amazement at Galadriel Lorien. “This lovely lady is as old as I!”

Galadriel laughed, and her laugh seemed to be filled with rainbows and sunshine, and the crowd glanced at her as though she was an angel or a witch, to retain such youthful beauty. Only the corners of her eyes betrayed any signs of aging, wrinkling as she smiled, holding up Arwen in her arms, the little brown head plastered on her grandmother’s shoulder.

“Well,” said Galadriel with a small smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“And now say goodbye to your grandchildren, because Beorn is going to be keeping all the young boys and girls company until such time that we have finished our counselling session,” continued Gandalf.

Beorn stood menacingly in the corner, shirtless for the sweltering heat outside, and wearing baggy, ripped jeans. What a comforting sight to know they were leaving their children in the hands of that.

“What are they going to be doing?” asked Dori, clearly as hesitant about leaving his Ori in the hands of Beorn, his arm reaching out to clutch the tiny red-head, who immediately looked less than pleased at his brother’s hovering.

All eyes zeroed onto Beorn, who immediately shuffled at the sudden attention. It was not for the first time that Thranduil found himself wondering why the hell they bothered to come here.

“Animals,” said Beorn suddenly, and then cleared his throat as he explained himself, “There are the farm animals in the barn. I was going to take them out and show the kids the cows and goats, some sheep. The pig and the dogs. Maybe let them ride the horse.”

“How many animals do you have?” asked Thranduil, genuinely curious as Dori cut in, “Is that safe?!”

“Three sheep, two dogs, one horse, a pig, two cows and two goats,” said the man easily, “And it’s perfectly safe. I’ll be with them the entire time.”

As if on cue, the children immediately began to babble. Bard’s trio were first besides Beorn, gaggled around him as Thorin’s boys and Elrond’s twins headed over. Ori seemed to be with them in spirit, his eyes yearning to join the group and escape Dori’s hold. Tauriel had appeared out of nowhere, popping up with an uneasy looking Legolas, who held his sister’s hand, and in the other hand, held Estel’s hand, both boys shyer than the rest. Arwen was still in Galadriel’s arms, looking stubborn about leaving them. Ever.

“Well, all the children will have to go,” said Gandalf simply, “Except for Nori, who can decide if he’d like to stay for Galadriel’s presentation.”

Arwen turned to let her grandmother whisper into her ear, and then with a sigh, slipped down and headed off. Nori had crossed his arms and sullenly plopped down onto a chair, muttering about ‘air-conditioning’. The boy was dressed in tiny cut-off shorts and a tank top, looking like jail-bait amongst these old men. Thranduil had no pity for Dori, though he sympathized about the air-conditioning. Nothing would get him outside on such a hot day.

“Isn’t Frodo coming?” asked Estel, looking at the baby, who seemed startled himself at the sudden departure of all the small-sized humans.

“I can take him if you’d like,” offered Beorn, and Bilbo Baggins, the foolish man that he was, looked torn. Don’t send your children to play with barnyard cretin.

“No, no,” said Bilbo finally, “He’s a bit too young for all this excitement. Besides, he’ll go down for a nap soon enough.”

Beorn shrugged, and then with surprising leadership quality, springing out of some blocked up corner, he ordered, “Everyone find a partner!”

And off the children went. Kili had tugged on Bain’s hand immediately, getting into line at the front. Legolas and Estel were bound to Tauriel, seemingly missing the point of what a partnership meant, until Tilda marched over and grabbed Legolas away, the blond shocked and mournful as he stared after Tauriel. He was always so nervous in new settings without his sister, it would do him some good to get independence. Sigrid had Arwen, who seemed to have abandoned Galadriel in the minute Thranduil had looked away, the two girls whispering to each other, and lingering at the back. Fili offered his hand to Ori, and surprisingly, the boy took it, looking a bit nervous. Probably the effect of the whole helicopter-parenting style that Dori enforced.

And then, in a neat little row, like ducklings following a bear, they marched out of the hall.

“Well, wasn’t that exciting?” asked Gandalf, to a crowd of uneasy parents who still had doubts about the whole, ‘Beorn’s in charge’ thing.

* * *

Nori was a total bad-ass. Despite Dori’s hissed whispers all afternoon to go check on Ori for him, Nori hadn’t moved an inch since he’d planted his chair into the seat. Fuck Dori and his ways. This shit was far more interesting.

Oh, not Galadriel’s powerpoint presentation. Which seriously, for an old biddy, she was a total G-Milf. And wasn’t that just icky? Nori bet her plastic surgeon was a total genius though. That, or her genes were just extremely latent in the whole, aging, department.

And what was that shit about her being Elrond’s like, mom. Mom-in-law. Grandmother to his kids. He’d investigate that relationship later. But here she was, and instead of pulling out all stops to impress the future grandmother of your baby, Bilbo was doing his very best to avoid Elrond entirely. Nori totally understood, no need to complicate shit, am I right? Best to just keep things simple and not too serious.

And that was so not Bilbo’s style, because seriously, what kind of guy has two biddys on the side and wants things simple?

No, something was totally up.

Bilbo had avoided Elrond all day, gravitating around Dori and Bard, and trying and failing to get near Thorin, who was a seriously antisocial duck that stuck to talking to walls for all the conversation that he made. Nori seriously didn’t understand the attraction in that. Bilbo loved to talk, and tell stories. Thorin seemed to be very impressed with the air around him, and it’s relative silence. That, and steering very clear of Bilbo.

Nori had told Dori to get there early, so that Nori could get shit done. Make observations. Not miss a minute of this shit. And what had Dori done? Insisted on feeding Ori a proper breakfast. Kid would grow up fine if he missed out on having home-made waffles (that Nori usually just went over to Bombur’s place to beg for), and juice. And then Dori had a minor freak-out over Ori’s pant-length. The shortest kid in the class had grown an inch, so they had to pause and mark the kid’s height off on the wall, which was a total waste of time. Ori had been pretty excited though, and thought he was almost as tall as Fili today. Nori wasn’t cruel, he let the kid believe in magic.

“So, when choosing a daycare,” began Galadriel, “The first thing you should do when checking the centre out is look in two directions, Up and Down.”

What a boring session. And Bilbo and Dori, the nerds they were, had notebooks out and were nodding along. Elrond seemed bored, uncomfortable, and stiff as he sat in his chair, glancing repeatedly at Bilbo as though questioning his mere existence and why it affected the brunette so. This was a total soap opera. Nori was going to make millions selling the rights to this. Thorin, on the other hand, was actually paying attention. Or maybe using it as an excuse to avoid looking anywhere accidentally and catch Bilbo’s not-so-sneaky glances.

And was the blond lady still talking?! God.

“I’m going to go check on Ori,” said Nori, finally bored of the lack of drama.

“Take his hat, and check if he needs more sunscreen!” hissed Dori.

Nori purposely left the hat behind. And if he had the sunscreen in hand, it was only because he didn’t want the brat to get burned and cry all day. And besides, Dori would be a perfect nightmare if Ori was even a little bit redder than normal.

* * *

Beorn liked children and animals more than he liked normal human beings. For one thing, children were relatively uncomplicated. So were animals, but children had the added benefit of being entertaining. Animals were better for the day-to-day grind, being mostly the quiet, soulful companions that a man needed. Which was why when Gandalf came to him with this business venture, Beorn had shrugged, agreed to rent out some space, and babysit the kids. Plus, it came with a nice stipend.

“Whoa!” gasped Tilda, the loudest little girl Beorn had yet to meet, “They’re so big!”

The barn doors were open, as to let in some air and ventilate the place on such a hot day. The animals themselves were rolling around, and lazy, uninterested in the new little humans. Except for Kipper. The dumb goat was bleating loudly, baa-ing at the world as though to announce his displeasure at new people in his space.

“These are the animals,” began Beorn gently, as he turned to the kids, all stilling immediately and tightening their holds on each other’s hands, “Who’d like to help me feed them?”

Cheers and cries went up in minutes. Beorn raised his hand, and like a well-trained army, they silenced automatically. And like that, Beorn began to divy up tasks. The youngest of the group were sent to fill buckets with slop for the pig. The dogs went behind them to supervise. The middle group were instructed to get the water. And the oldest group got the easiest and best task of all, opening the latches and watching the animals up close and personal, as the cows and horses and goats and sheep all shuffled on outside.

When the one bucket of slop arrived, the kids excitedly tossed it into the pig’s trough, and then watched the fat and filthy animal devour it, crying out ‘gross’ and ‘cool’ all at once. Tilda, Estel, Legolas and Tauriel were quite pleased with their work. Even if they had gotten some slop on themselves. The middle group, Kili, Bain, Fili and Ori, were disheartened at the unfairness of it all, as they found themselves replacing the water in the empty animal stalls. And the oldest group were standing at the barn doors, mesmerized.

And then, like petting zoo style, Beorn lead the children outdoors into the beating sun, and called one animal over, one by one, and let the children come close, touch their coats, brush their hands, and even sit astride a coat, and a sheep, and a cow and a horse. All in all, Beorn could label this quite a successful day.

* * *

Nori was like a whirlwind when he arrived, glancing over the scene. For the most part, Beorn was navigating the children around a much of animals. It was way too hot for this. The teenager slunk over to a tree, where there was shade, and collapsed under it. May he die here and never get up again. A few minutes, however, was all the napping time he had. Tiny bodies collided into him. It was, to his express disappointment, Kili, Fili, Ori, Bain and Tauriel, looking eagerly at his dead body as though they had discovered a prize. And then behind the group came Elladan and Elrohir.

“Can I help you?” snapped Nori, as he grabbed Ori’s arm and began to slather the boy in sunscreen. Ask Ori to stand still and let Nori apply sunscreen? What sort of fun would that be? Ori squirmed and giggled and screamed as Nori absently tickled Ori while applying the sunscreen. The other kids gasped.

“You’re hurting him!” cried Kili, pushing at Nori’s arm, and the teenager grabbed the younger boy, lotion on his hand, and began to slather it over the kid, who squealed and giggled as Nori tickled and rubbed and all the other children stared at Nori cautiously.

“Ew,” said Bain, pinching his nose with both hands, “Shmelsh funny!”

Tauriel put her hands on her hips, looking incredibly like a disapproving mother, even in pig-tails and overalls, and announced loudly, “That’s mean! Stop it!”

“Make me,” deadpanned Nori letting go of Kili’s arms and slathering lotion up his leg like the creep he was.

The kids looked horrified at the declaration, as Kili’s other leg was slathered in lotion and then the boy was let go, looking exhausted as he lay on the ground, panting and doubled over. Fili looked very upset and then charged at Nori like he was a villain. It might have had to do with the fact that not only was Kili tuckered out, but Nori had sort of perfected the whole, fast-slap-and-dash of sunscreen using Ori’s squirmy body. And the redhead was currently under attack. So when Fili attacked, Nori grabbed the kid and began to apply sunscreen onto him, tickling as Fili cried out in horror and laughter to get away.

“They were very brave,” said one of the twins. Nori was still working out a way to differentiate.

“What’s your name?” asked Nori, curious.

“Elladan,” said the boy who had spoken, looking wide-eyed and scared. Nori took a glob of lotion, and flicked it into the kid’s hair. Problem solved.

The boy shrieked out as though he had been scalded, and then all the children were on him. Nori never stood a chance. They were rubbing sunscreen all over him, and oh Mahal! Not the shirt! Even Ori, the traitorous little bastard (What, it wasn’t like their mom had ever been married to any of the losers she got knocked up by!), was cautiously extending a hand to rub sunscreen into Nori’s cheek.

“Little midgets!” yelled Nori, tackling Tauriel to the ground, “I’ll get you all back for this!”

A sheep meandered by and began to chew on the grass. Like what the fuck? This was seriously not Nori’s life.

“Alright! Truce already!” said Nori, as the kids began to pant, and Nori was sweating and had grass stains on his knees and elbows. Their ruckus had attracted the other kids to stare. And Beorn, the big tough fucker, was just sort of sitting there all shirtless and ab-by, and judging Nori.

“Don’t scare the animals,” said Beorn gruffly.

Nori blinked. He looked at the sheep that was just sort of sitting there and eating grass, and then back at Beorn. Like, seriously. What the fuck man?

“I think they’re pretty tough animals,” replied Nori earnestly.

And that was how Nori found himself getting Beorn to actually smile at him. It was the creepiest fucking thing in the universe. Nori loved it.

Somehow, the rest of the afternoon passed with Nori and his new ducklings. The kids had decided that despite being able to overpower Nori, like a bunch of little- what were those superhero things called? The ones that were a bunch of different sentient parts that combined to make one mega-awesome hero? Who really cares. Anyways, the kids were apparently in awe of Nori, and off they went, following Nori around as Beorn made him lead the animals out onto the field on such a hot day.

But alas, not all of Nori’s ideas were really the best ideas in the world.

“So, we’re going to toss these rocks onto this bullseye,” said Nori, pointing to the dart board he’d drawn haphazardly into the mud, “Teams of three people. Ori, Fili, Kili are one team. Tauriel, Bain and what’s your name?”

“Tilda,” shouted the girl, looking curiously at the ground.

“Right,” said Nori, “Tauriel, Bain and Tilda are a team. The twins will work as one person, throwing together and whatnot. So the twins, Legolas and Estel are another team. Sure you ladies don’t want to play?”

Arwen and Sigrid nodded, not really eager to throw rocks into mud. But plenty eager to keep score and pet the bunny rabbit that Beorn had released from some coop somewhere. Arwen seemed a little eager, actually, to join, but was too smart to buy into Nori’s bullshit game.

“So, if you hit a rainbow,” said Nori- and so what if he was making up the rules to darts? This was his game! “You get ten points and you can throw again. If you hit a snake, the other team gets to tickle you while I count to ten. If you hit a lobster-

“It looks like a spider,” announced Tilda.

“Spider,” conceded Nori, because he really wasn’t much of an artist, “Then you have to hop on one foot for your next turn.”

And so the game began. Nori thought it was going well. Elladan and Elrohir were a pretty creative bunch. The two of them had long ago surpassed just holding the rock together and tossing. They were onto throwing with their feet. And if they had to hop on one foot, then one person would jump, while the other threw. Or they would both hop on one foot. Or the best yet, one would jump, the other hop, so they really were on one foot. Men after his own heart.

The problem, however, began to arise between Kili and Legolas, who grew increasingly competitive as they tossed the rocks. Both seemed to be excellent at the game, and were only landing their rocks on rainbows. Tauriel was rather good herself, but she wasn’t making such a spectacle as these two.

“I can throw twice as far as you!” crowed Legolas, “And I’m better at it! Right Taury?”

“He’s good at throwing things,” agreed Tauriel kindly.

“Yeah, well, I’m better at not missing!” argued Kili, “Right Fili?”

The blonde nodded exuberantly, before lining up to take his own shot, and once again landing on a snake. Tilda giggled happily as she began to tickle Fili, Bain and Tauriel at her side, mostly watching their friend giggle mercilessly under the onslaught of a girl half his size.

“Well,” said Legolas with a frown, “I’m not ugly.”

“Yeah you are!” snorted Kili, stomping his foot angrily.

“But I’m not a crybaby either!” said Legolas viciously.

Everyone turned to stare at them. Even Tilda had stopped tickling, and there was a rumble in the air. Kili had turned a vicious shade of pink, and then he jumped onto Legolas. Nori fumbled for a moment, as the boys tossed and turned and pulled on each other’s hair. The other kids were squalling. Fili was there first, pushing Kili out of the way and off of Legolas, only to hit Legolas himself.

“Fili!” said Nori, getting up to separate the boys, but it was too late.

“Hey!” cried Estel, furious, “You’re not supposed to hit Leggy!”

And Estel, the normally quiet boy, was at his friend’s defense, pouncing on Fili. And it devolved. Estel and Fili rolled around, tugging on each other’s hair, slapping and making fists as they pounded on one another. A shrieking Tauriel was yelling at the group to stop, while Legolas pounced on Fili’s back. And then, to Nori’s horror and amazement, Ori jumped in.

Before Nori could grab his little brother, Beorn was on site, and like a magical beast, he lifted all the boys off of each other, his arms rippling with muscle as he did so. Each child looked startled to no more be hitting one another, and instead to be lifted in the air. And the best part, Ori had only gotten one punch into Estel’s face. He looked relieved not to be in the fight. Whereas Kili looked disappointed not to have gotten a chance to jump back in.

Beorn turned a dirty look to Nori, “You’re more trouble than you’re worth kid.”

“That’s what Dori says.”

 

 


	10. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot develops further. Not really. We're back to shitty character behaving stupid.

When the session wrapped up, Thorin was eager to leave. Kili and Fili had returned, and were pattering around him, shouting out what they’d seen and done, and it was really quite a story, at least, for the kids themselves.

“And we sat on Boppy!” babbled Kili, swinging from Thorin’s arm. Everytime the man tried to lower it, Kili would push it up, before climbing on the chair, and then grabbing onto the arm to swing and hold. Thorin was ignoring the little monkey, keeping his arm solid to entertain the child.

“Boppy’s a sheep,” said Ori diplomatically, looking at Kili with wide-eyes, “Nori said sheep make wool, which makes my clothes.”

“I’m wearing wool,” said Fili eagerly, stinking of animal scent, and dirt splattered all over his body. His golden hair even had grass flakes in it. Thorin didn’t want to investigate that.

“No you aren’t,” replied Thorin gently, “Wool is the stuff that makes you warm.”

Fili frowned, and then pouted decidedly at this turn of events. Thorin ran a large hand through the boy’s hair, and didn’t entirely grimace at the knots and tangles. He’d deal with it as it came. Bath time was probably going to involve bubbles to make up for the shampoo.

“Are we leaving now?” asked Kili, sounding tremendously upset by the idea.

“We have to go home, eat dinner and take a bath, we can watch a movie together,” coaxed Thorin, lowering his arm, only for Kili to scramble and push it back up as he climbed back up onto the arm, and using Thorin as his own personal gym.

“We’re going,” harrumphed Thorin, and then he turned and stared at Ori. Another parent might try something like smile. Thorin merely stared at the child, whose blue eyes widened incredibly at being stared at. “Where’s Dori? Your brother?”

“Talking to Gadaladel,” replied Ori meekly. Thorin nodded. And then stood awkwardly, tearing his eyes from Ori, who finally remembered how to breathe. Fili petted Ori’s shoulder, as though he knew how the redhead felt. Thorin wasn’t sure what to consider that meant.

Finally, Nori came by. The teenager had spend most of the afternoon outdoors, somehow haranguing a bunch of children into believing that they should follow a ‘don’t tell’ policy. Something had happened outdoors, and Thorin wasn’t too sure if he wanted to know. Somehow, he had a feeling Dori could handle it. Or maybe, he was better at everything than Thorin was.

“Well,” said Thorin awkwardly, staring now at the teenager, and really, his hair was done so elaborately, braided and spiked up at the same time, so it looked as though he’d made an effortless mess.  The boy made Thorin decidedly uncomfortable. “Ori is here. We’re going to leave now.”

Nori stared at him, and then asked, “You a rich doctor? Fond of the theatre? Please tell me that you at least have a fondness for those stupid carrot cake muffins.”

“Eww, carrots!” cried out Kili, giggling as Thorin grabbed the boy around the waist and slung him over his shoulder to stop him from jumping onto the chair.

“No,” replied Thorin easily, “Why?”

Nori just continued to stare, and then shook his head. What a completely unnerving boy.

“Well,” said Thorin awkwardly, “We’re going to go now. Come on Fili. Say bye to Ori.”

Both younger boys traded a hug and then giggled at something they whispered to each other. Kili was working himself onto being piggy-backed, and Thorin was struggling to keep the boy under control. This was why Kili wasn’t allowed to have too much excitement in one day. That many animals, and far too much excitement lead to -

“Can we get a horse, Uncle?” asked Kili easily, as the group began to head out quietly.

“No,” replied Thorin simply.

“A pig?” asked Fili, holding his uncle’s hand and hopping over all the cracks in the tiles as they walked.

“No,” continued Thorin, as the children continued to list animals they’d seen or heard of, ranging from goats to chimps and platypi. Thorin couldn’t help the small smile on his face. A few weeks ago, the boys wouldn’t have been so rambunctious. They only needed a little bit of space and some new friends to ease up out of their shells. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t too bad after all.

* * *

Elrond was playing dutiful son-in-law, as he stood at Galadriel’s side, letting her share pamphlets and information about the school program. Dori and Bard were obviously quite interested. Thranduil stayed to the corners, unconcerned or caring. His children were enrolled in Lorien under a discount, and he’d gotten Haldir out of the arrangement. He saw no reason to go collect information that he already knew. Information that he’d known as a child.

“Er, Thranduil?” asked a voice, and the businessman turned to see Bilbo Baggins, holding a recently awoken Frodo, if the grumpy baby face was anything to go by. This was a surprise. Thranduil had probably never spoken to Bilbo in his life, and now the curly-haired man was just, approaching? To talk?

“Yes?” asked Thranduil, and if it came off a little dismissive, well, that was hardly Thranduil’s fault. Bilbo was just too sensitive over the little things.

“Can- Can you let Elrond know I’m sorry I didn’t stay to talk?” asked Bilbo politely, and Thranduil felt a little irked at being asked to play, messenger boy, for this- whatever it was.

“Sure,” said Thranduil bitingly to the shorter man, and to his extreme displeasure, he received a large, blinding smile in return. And drool from the baby dripped onto his patented black leather shoes.

And then Bilbo Baggins turned and pranced off, lifting his baby onto his shoulder. Frodo stared at him, unnervingly. Thranduil glowered at the baby, who cooed and waved a fist in response. Thranduil turned back to stare at Elrond and his mother-in-law, displeased at the world in general.

* * *

Outside in the parking lot, Thorin was strapping Fili into his carseat, as Kili babbled away about Tauriel and how he was stronger than Legolas. Fili kept shushing Kili whenever the story began, and Kili would giggle and then mime zipping his lips. Thorin, admittedly, wasn’t sure if he wanted the details that Kili would probably divulge by the end of the night. Worse still, if he had to apologize to Thranduil over it.

“Thorin?”

The man in question froze, as he shut the door to his Range Rover. Slowly, the large, beefy and bearded man turned to face one Bilbo Baggins, who looked primarily curious over the situation. He was holding a baby that seemed far more cheerful than Thorin remembered, and was babbling away at Thorin excitedly in the way that babies do. Nonsense words that really mean nothing but make their faces light up, and fists plop into their mouths when they're done.

“Mr Baggins,” began Thorin cordially, hesitant to speak or say anything, “I should be leaving. Fili needs a bath.” So much for silence.

Bilbo nodded, and had that wide-eyed stare fixed on him. Thorin stared back. Usually, any argument the two had in a parking lot resulted in lots of noise and someone storming away. But they had a truce going right now, and Thorin wasn’t someone who violated a truce. Well. Not on purpose at least. He wasn’t sure if asking Bilbo about his romantic life was a violation. There were a lot of grey areas in that regard.

“So, er,” began Bilbo nervously, “I’m not.”

Not?

Thorin’s blankness must have shown on his face. Or maybe it was the lack of response. Or maybe it was just some part of Bilbo that had to keep talking when Thorin went completely silent, because the man continued to speak, “I mean, Elrond’s a very good friend of mine, and a great help. He doesn’t really live too far away from the Shire, and my family’s rather nosy and they all think I’m just using Frodo to stop seeming like a shut-in. I think they’re hoping I don’t start bringing cats around. Or maybe they think Frodo is my version of a cat and that I’m going to start adopting babies left right and centre because obviously I’m the crazy cat-baby person. I find it ever so strange that it’s always associated with ladies. I mean, I remember Uncle Isengar had seventeen dogs. Of course, that was because he never got them fixed, and he’d only really had four, until two had a litter of six, and then again, of seven. He sold Rory two dogs and Rory sold them to Drogo, and Drogo gave that puppy to Primula for her birthday. Isengar was furious, and he ended up buying the puppy back from Primula, because she wasn’t ‘dog-certified’ and hadn’t taken his classes. And he was never married either. So really, I mean, he was a bit of a weirdo, and yet we always assume it’s the lady whose the weirdo. Not that they aren’t mind you. I mean, Auntie Gilda was-

Thorin was mystified at the story. What on earth was the point? And so he asked that question, very bluntly, by stating, “Your point.”

Bilbo looked affronted at being interrupted. Automatically, Thorin sensed an argument coming up. And really, this was not the place to argue with Bilbo, because Fili had learnt how to roll down the window, and was rolling it down as Bilbo puffed up like a sparrow, ready to tweet away his anger at Bilbo and peck at Thorin’s head until he went home and downed a few beers to wash away the lingering headache.

“Well,” said Bilbo, looking grumpy, “My point, as you so cleverly asked, is that I’m not. With Elrond. In any sense that is not one of close friendship.”

Thorin nodded, unsure why he felt a bit of relief at those words. And then he turned to stare at the window, where Fili and Kili were both looking on, curious and completely unabashed over the fact that they’d opened a window all the way down just to eavesdrop on his conversation. Good lord, they were just like Dis in that aspect. His sister was probably cackling, wherever she was.

“Anyways,” continued Bilbo- and Mahal! Was he still talking?! “I just wanted to ask, well, why did you ask that question? Because well, as far as I knew, we were just good friends. Or well, friends. Not quite good friends. More like how Donnamira Took, my mother’s sister, and Chica Chubb are. Perfectly polite. Though, I think in this case you’d be the Took, despite my having the blood and goodness, why would anyone ever want to be a Chubb. They’re so ridiculously stubborn. My cousin Falco is now a Chubb-Baggins. What sort of name is that? Like Sackville-Baggins. It’s the hyphenated Baggins to look out for.”

“Shut up,” said Thorin finally, and Bilbo’s eyes widened, his mouth flopped, and then, miraculously, he went silent. The boys giggled and added their own, “oh, Uncle Thorin said something bad!” in the background, their whispers more resemblant of the trampling elephants must make.

“But you didn’t answer my question, and really,” continued Bilbo, as he stepped into Thorin’s space, still holding the baby who Thorin finally understood why he was so silent. Poor Frodo probably didn’t get a word in edgewise as the man spoke. “You know, if you just spoke more, I wouldn’t have to carry this conversation on my own! Why on earth did you ask me about my romantic life when we aren’t otherwise engaged, or ever been in that sort of manner? There was a time, you know, where another man might have mistaken your lack of social niceties as a declaration or some sort of statement, which would be absurd because all we ever do is fight and I hardly know you and that’s just really-

Thorin slammed his hand over Bilbo’s mouth, finally shutting him up. The boys giggling in the background, unaware of exactly why Thorin had done what he’d done, but laughing nonetheless. Frodo was cooing. Probably cheering Thorin on in victory.

“Do you ever just stay quiet?” asked Thorin incredulously, “Frodo’s probably never going to start talking at the rate you keep interrupting a man from thinking.”

Bilbo harrumphed behind Thorin’s hand, and settled for glowering. He was probably contemplating biting Thorin. Frodo was patting Thorin’s large fingers with his own baby stubs, as though encouraging Thorin to keep his hand in place and prevent Bilbo from ever talking again. Thorin sympathized, but moved his hand away before Bilbo could do something drastic. Like bite him.

“Do you want to come home for dinner?” asked Thorin finally, deciding that the best course of action was to completely ignore all rational thinking and just go with whatever spewed out of his mouth. “Not as a date, or because I have any intentions. But because you’re right. We don’t know each other beyond what happened the first time we met, and the arguments since.”

Bilbo seemed speechless. Fili and Kili decided that their lack of stealth was enough for one day, and abandoned all pretense as they began to coo and cheer, “Please Mr. Boggins! Please! Pretty please!”

“Baggins,” replied the man absently to the children, and then slowly he nodded. “I’d be delighted to.”

Well. That was good. As Thorin climbed into his car and began to drive out of the ranch, Bilbo’s tiny Toyota car following, Thorin felt decidedly pleased at his navigation of a completely awkward social situation. And then he began to wonder if he had any food in his fridge.

Bother.

* * *

Thranduil was ready to leave. He really just wanted to go home, have Haldir draw him up a bath- and yes, that wasn’t part of a nanny’s job description, but Haldir wasn’t just his regular nanny- and maybe sip some wine and try very hard to not think about Celebrian and her mother and things that had happened nearly ten years ago. But, as fortune had it, things were never aligned in Thranduil’s favour.

“Thranduil!” called Elrond, looking rather unkempt for what must have been ten minutes of Galadriel’s presence and no Bilbo Baggins, “Come to dinner.”

The blonde man in question turned to face Elrond, eyes wide and ready to shut the idea down, but Elrond just looked so desperate. Despite his neat, usual stoic dress, he seemed ready to tear his hair out.

“Mother-in-law getting to you?” asked Thranduil, glancing back to where Galadriel was bent over, inspecting Estel’s scratch along his forehead, while Arwen clung to her arm, looking happier than ever.

Elrond gave a slight chuckle, and then glanced back at Thranduil warmly, as he added, “She’s invited Celeborn. We’re going out. To Bree.”

“Isn’t that those family restaurants?” asked Thranduil, his nose curling in distaste at the idea. But Elrond was smiling, and giving him a gooey look, and the blonde, despite his better judgement, found himself agreeing to go.

As he got into the car, Galadriel buckled in with him and Legolas narrating the events that lead to the most unfortunate bruise on his cheek, Thranduil questioned every life decision he’d made. And when Galadriel turned her attention to Thranduil to remind him of his fights as a child, well, Thranduil didn’t mind cursing Elrond’s life.

 

 


	11. Crash and Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil crashes at dinner. And Bilbo literally crashes. 
> 
> And also- I told you there was a plot. And it suddenly thickens.

Bilbo Baggins was not a man to leap before checking the waters. Something about Thorin Durinson made Bilbo impulsive and completely ridiculous. It really wasn’t his fault, per say, but rather, he just had to refute Durinson at every chance he got. Make the man think twice, act a little responsible. Act a little irresponsible. What was Bilbo doing? This was the entirely wrong direction to go.

But Thorin had spent all day parading around in that very tight white tank. And he had asked Bilbo about Elrond, of all people. Like Elrond was somehow in any way romantically linked to Bilbo Baggins. Really. The nerve. Did Thorin think that Bilbo just jumped into anyone’s bed? Well, considering that was exactly what he’d done when he’d met Thorin… It wasn’t hard to blame the man.

His parents would be so proud.

In the backseat, Frodo was clapping his hands. He really did love driving in the car. Bilbo smiled fondly at the baby, who caught his uncle’s smile and waved a fist back, cooing about how lovely the new trip was. An adventurer, that little boy was.

As they drove along the rode, it got more and more abandoned. Bilbo suddenly had a strange sense of unease as they moved past Misty Mountain Way. Something was very off. He couldn’t quite explain it, even though the sun was beating. It was just something that made a person feel, well, unsure, or uneasy about whatever was about to happen.

And then the truck arrived, from behind a small paved path. It was a giant, white truck, the small ones with no back. Bilbo’s eyes widened as he realized it was speeding, and Thorin must have seen it too, because his Range Rover swerved to try and get out of the way as it zoomed near his car with two children in the backseat.

Bilbo pressed down on the gas pedal, and maybe he really had lost his mind, as the Toyota picked up speed, and his tiny silver car surpassed Thorin’s Range Rover, the front hood smashing into the truck’s flank, the impact pushing the truck forward and away from colliding with Thorin’s Range Rover, which had fully swerved, spinning to the left and coming to a stop, leavin a giant skid mark.

Inside Bilbo’s car, the smaller man’s head slammed forward, banging into his wheel, while Frodo screamed in the background, wailing as Bilbo’s car finally came to a stop, and then when he lifted himself up, the world was spinning. He gasped out as something wet trickled down his forehead, and he lifted a hand, and stared into his cracked mirror on the side of the car.

Blood.

The Green Lady help them all.

* * *

Dinner at the Bree was always such an event. For one thing, the Bree was made up of many tiny little cafe restaurants and bistros, all settled into the little plaza. Elrond had booked a reservation at the Prancing Pony, Estel’s favorite restaurant. The restaurant was hardly a five star, but it made Thranduil feel cheap. They had purposely set the lights low, a raucous atmosphere at the bar, and the decor was mostly tacky brown fabrics stretched over dark green-stained wood.

Thranduil was settled into the giant round booth table, both his children on one side of him. Legolas had bagged the seat beside Estel, and the two were speaking in low tones about their fight. It was far more interesting than the rest of the conversations going on.

Celebornn had met them at the restaurant, the fair blonde male seated already. Immediately his twin grandsons had scooted beside him, with Elrond sitting on the outermost edge, beside Elladan. Elrohir was beside Tauriel, and his daughter seemed less than pleased. Thranduil understood her sentiments. Beside Estel was Arwen, who had bagged the seat beside her grandmother, and was telling Galadriel all about her day as the older woman listened politely.

Thranduil felt out of place.

“Ada,” said Tauriel, holding her menu and pouting, “What do I eat?”

Thranduil turned to his precious gilgalad, and looked at her menu. It was the standard fare of most family restaurants. An ugly horse picture to connect the dots of, and then colour in with the cup of three crayons. Some easily done maze, that Tauriel had already scribbled in with green, the only crayon colour she liked. And then a spot the differences picture.

The food itself was pretty plain for the children’s menu. Hamburger. Hamburger with cheese. Macaroni and cheese. A small pizza. A small spaghetti. Thranduil curled his nose up at the offering.

“You and Legolas can split something off the adult menu, gilgalad,” replied Thranduil, turning to his own laminated menu and reading over the options, “Maybe split a portion of their pasta?”

“Estel and I want to have the same thing!” demanded Legolas, scooting closer to his father, and leaning over his arm to peek at the menu. A chubby finger pointed at a picture of the salmon glazed with a lemon-style sauce, and announced, “We want that!”

“You don’t like fish, ernil,” replied Thranduil with a sigh, “What about the three of you share something nicer, like maybe their pasta. They have a nice vegetarian pasta selection here. Would you want to try their pasta with broccoli and chickpeas?”

“Okay ada,” agreed Legolas, and then he turned to his picture, and frowned with his purple crayon in one hand, “What comes after seven, ada?”

“Eight,” replied Thranduil, “Remember to use your fingers. Like Haldir taught you.”

Legolas nodded, and Estel, seeing the blonde pull out his fingers to count, began to do the same. Tauriel, on the other side, was pouting as she said, “I don’t want to share. I can eat it all on my own.”

Thranduil looked around for help. He did not want to sit here and debate with his five year old daughter why she couldn’t eat an adult meal on her own. But everyone was absorbed in their own conversations. Celebran and Elrond talking to the twins, Galadriel and Arwen in their own conversation. Somehow, Thranduil had just been relegated to talking to Tauriel all evening.

“Well, iell,” began Thranduil with a sigh, “If you’re still hungry, you can eat from my plate, alright?”

Tauriel paused, her arguments stopped, and then she nodded slowly, “What are you eating?”

And that was how Thranduil spent the rest of the evening until a waiter from god knows where showed up. He read the entire menu to his daughter. What a fun evening indeed.

* * *

“Bilbo! Bilbo wake up!” called a voice, and the man in question felt the hazy comfort of sleep slipping. He blinked a few times, and then looked up to see Thorin’s face, very close to his.

“Thor’n?” asked Bilbo, still groggy as he felt Thorin stretch across him, and Bilbo giggled at the close proximity to the man’s muscular back, “You’re strong.”

“You have a concussion,” replied Thorin, looking uneasy, “What the hell were you thinking?! Diving in front of a car like that! And with Frodo in the backseat! That was the stupidest, most idiotic thing you could have ever thought of!”

“Frodo?” asked Bilbo, whimpering as he looked at the front of his car, which was totalled. The entire hood was crumpled into itself, with a chunk of his car having fallen off. The impact had cracked his windshield.

“I got him out first,” grunted Thorin, as Bilbo felt himself being lifted and squeezed out of the tiny car, “He’s strapped in with the boys, who are terrified, by the way. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” replied Bilbo, shaking as he thought of the linoleum walls, the white, never-ending hallways, the stench of death and medicine in the air, “No hospitals.”

Thorin paused, still holding Bilbo, and maybe it was the concussion, because Bilbo swore he saw something soften in Thorin’s eye, and the man nodded, “No hospitals.”

Bilbo beamed up at Thorin, who led him to the Range Rover and strapped him into the front. The car was deadly silent, except for Frodo’s ringing wails. The boy was obviously in shock. Bilbo began to hum, trying to calm the little boy down, but for some reason he couldn’t remember the tune. The song was just not right.

Thorin was looking at him as though he’d gone mad.

“Frodo’s crying,” said Bilbo plaintively, “Where are we going? He’s crying!”

Thorin’s large hand came over, and Bilbo felt the finger press into his head, and Bilbo hissed at the sensation. There was blood on Thorin’s finger as he stepped away. Where had that come from? Bilbo stared as Thorin pulled out a large handkerchief, and dabbed it against his head, and then his hand moved away. The handkerchief was missing.

“You left it at my house,” grunted Thorin, “I thought I was supposed to return it someday.”

“Where is it?” asked Bilbo, feeling a little nauseous, “I think I’m going to puke.”

Thorin handed him a brown paper bag, and Bilbo began to breathe heavily into it. Thorin stared at Bilbo in shock and fear, a large hand resting on his shoulder. Frodo’s wails had subsided to heavy whimpers. Oh the social worker was going to have a field day when they heard what Bilbo had done now. Mad Baggins had struck again.

“Fili,” asked Thorin in the backround, or was he saying Kili? What similar names indeed! “Can you sing to Frodo? Make him feel less scared?”

There was a reply, but Bilbo didn’t hear it as they began to drive. Thorin was on the phone, and Bilbo wanted to tell him not to talk on the phone as he was driving, because that was dangerous. What if they got into an accident? Or a ticket!? Well, they’d already had the accident, so maybe they’d get a ticket now. It was that happy thought that let Bilbo drive away.

And then he vomited.

* * *

Back at the restaurant, dinner had finally arrived. The pasta had come with a slice of garlic bread for the children, and Elrond in a fit of generosity, had ordered three slices, one for each child. Tauriel was delighted. Legolas and Estel had split both their slices and traded half with each other, for Iluvatar knows why. Thranduil had let Tauriel pick his menu, and had ended up with a veggie burger and a side of fries. Mediocre. But then, that was how the evening was turning out.

“So tell me, Elrond,” began Galadriel, as the children’s mouth began to be busy with food, “Have you considered dating again? How long are you planning to be alone like this? A woman worries about you.”

Delightful.

Elrond grimaced, and gave a polite smile in reply as he began to move the rice around in his plate, carefully considering the question and then answering, “It’s not that I don’t want to start dating again, but I don’t even know where I’d begin, madam.”

Galadriel sighed, and she nodded from across the table, her eyes full of sympathy. Celeborn seemed to have gone silent, a stoicness in his demeanour as the ghost of Celebrian lingered in the air.

So much for a fun dinner.

“There are plenty of women as wonderful as my daughter was,” said Galadriel softly, “And I’m certain they’d wish to be with you.”

Celeborn clenched his hands, and then released them. The man turned to Elrond, who was shaking his head already. Thranduil felt his own fists clench around the fork, as Elrond replied, “I’d never be able to love another woman the way I loved her.”

Galadriel lowered her beautiful head, and sighed at the thought. That lingering air of heaviness rested around them, and Thranduil awkwardly cleared his throat as he added, “She’d want you to be happy, I think. She always wanted everyone to be happy.”

Elrond nodded, looking pained at the thought. He took a sip of whatever wine he’d chosen to accompany his salmon tonight, and then set it down, shaking his head as he added, “She should never have died the way she did. She was too gentle for that.”

“Nobody could have predicted what happened Elrond,” said Galadriel sharply, “Imladris had never seen anything like that before. It makes sense that they didn’t have the safety measures in place when an angry patient struck out.”

The french fry had never tasted so salty. He was definitely going to leave a heavy tip so that the chef could take cooking classes all over again. Celeborn shook his head, raising his glass of wine and saying, “Oh come, stop ruining dinner conversation. Savo 'lass a lalaith! Tell us, Thranduil, how have things been at Greenwoods since Oropher passed?”

And goody. Time to speak about his father and Thranduil’s very different styles of management and business that was being eaten away by Necromancer Inc. Wasn’t this dinner just shaping up to be a symposium of joy?

* * *

Bilbo Baggins was lifted up by Thorin when they arrived at a very large house. The same house Bilbo remembered leaving one morning. His bag of vomit was still in his hands, as Thorin gently lead him to the doorsteps, where three strangers were crowded. Immediately he was transferred into the arms of the tall, scary-looking bald man, with tattoos crawling around his head. Thorin disappeared, and so did his bag of vomit.

“Let’s get yer upstairs,” said the man gently, as they headed inside the house.

Seconds later, Bilbo was in a bedroom that was most certainly not the one he’d stayed in last time. The sheets were golden, and there was a thin layer of dust over all the furniture. Not a proper Baggins home. He felt dizzy, as a larger, chubbier man replaced the muscular behemoth that had carried him up. The man was wearing big glasses, and had a fancy looking conch device around his ear.

“I’m Oin,” said the man gently, as he held up a fancy looking device and began to unravel the thing on his head, “Can you follow this light, Mr. Baggins?”

And so Bilbo was being taken care of by a doctor, in the warm, strange room that was not a family home at all. Well, not a Baggins home. But it was a home to someone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savo 'lass a lalaith = Have joy and laughter. (Sindarin)


	12. Safety Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Thranduil find themselves at the edge of something sharp and intangible. Danger is in the air.

“I called the police,” said Balin kindly to Thorin, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder as they waited outside the guest room for Oin to give a verdict on Bilbo’s condition. “They’re checking out the site now.”

Thorin was listening, but his mind was elsewhere, raging and fuming as he thought about the truck that had come speeding into their path, and had sped away just as quickly, only minorly dented from Bilbo’s brash behavior. It was so completely ridiculous, and so amazingly brave that Thorin had been taken aback. He still couldn’t believe what had happened, the events replaying in his mind’s eye since.

“How is Frodo?” asked Thorin to his cousin.

“Shaken up,” said Balin grimly, “But with Mili. She’s got the children watching a movie. Oin looked the lad over on the way in, said he was fine. No concussion as you thought he had.”

Thorin nodded, and then returned to gazing longingly at the grey doors, shut as they were. He’d brought out a hard-backed chair and a notepad, writing out everything he remembered, exactly as it had happened. He still couldn’t believe that someone had tried to hit-and-run their cars. The mere idea made him so furious.  And he knew that it was an intentional hit. Someone had been trying to kill Thorin Durinson.

“It was planned, Balin,” said Thorin, and that was all his cousin needed to know. Balin raised two eyebrows, and on the other end of the hall, Dwalin scowled furiously.

“I have some people who can look into it,” replied Dwalin easily, his eyes burning with all the fire that Durinson men had. “They won’t get away with this.”

And then Dwalin left, presumably to follow his leads. Balin stood beside Thorin, looking stately in his suit, his short gruff beard, with premature grey, being stroked by his hand as he thought over the events. Balin rested a hand on Thorin’s shoulder in silent support, as they stared at the door.

“If you’ll excuse me,” began Balin quietly, “I need to make some calls of my own.”

Thorin nodded, and sent the two brothers away. His mind was stirring with anger. Whoever had tried to cross the Durinson family wouldn’t get away with it tonight.

* * *

Dinner ended on an even more miserable note. Thranduil had left a little early, citing that the family should have time to bond. Elrond had smiled at Thranduil on the way out, and the Elvenking had never felt more bitter in his life. An entire dinner of uncomfortable topics and the discussion of events and old history that didn’t matter, and all he’d gotten from Elrond in return was a goddamned smile.

Haldir looked up questioningly when Thranduil stormed in, Legolas sleeping in his arms, and Tauriel sloppily walking beside him. The live-in-nanny didn’t even question Thranduil’s anger, and merely took the children off to bed. As that was happening, Thranduil headed to the penthouse kitchen, fuming as he opened the small wine cellar and removed a bottle of the finest white wine he owned. Popping open the cork, he poured the wine into a crystal glass, and then guzzled it back from the bottle itself. The glass was merely a reminder that he hadn’t drank all of it.

“Want to talk?” asked Haldir, as he had made his way into the kitchen, finding Thranduil tipping back the bottle.

“Never,” replied Thranduil bitterly, as he set the bottle down, and then he turned to Haldir and asked, “Am I repugnant? Or do I look like I should be trodden on?”

Haldir paused, taking up the glass and sipping. Thranduil would take that money out of the nanny’s Christmas present fund. Haldir was overpaid enough as it was. The nanny, instead, asked, “Dinner didn’t go well?”

“I’ve had better dinners with Sauron,” ground out Thranduil, “At least with Sauron I know where I stand!”

Haldir chuckled at that, before glancing at Thranduil, who had settled into a bar stool at his breakfast bar, loosening his tie and looking completely miserable. The nanny sighed, as he came to stand before Thranduil, who had his eyebrow raised, awaiting an answer.

“I think you do know where you stand,” replied Haldir slowly, “But what you know and what you want aren’t always in accord, now are they?”

Thranduil glowered at the man, who had his wise-as-shit face on, and then he sighed as he replied, “Celebrian’s been dead three years. I know he’s as over it as can be, and that he’s ready to move on. So why not me?”

Haldir didn’t say anything, merely sipping at the wine from the crystal cup, and then he set a hand over Thranduil’s, petting the knuckles gently as he added, “I’ll tell you what I told my brother, Orophin, when he asked me the same question after Gwendwen left her last boyfriend.”

“Do not compare me to your teenage brothers,” said Thranduil bitingly.

“He’s in university, actually,” replied Haldir mildly, not the least bit bowled over, as he continued the story, “I told him, just because someone is available romantically, it doesn’t mean they're available to you.”

Thranduil stared at Haldir, and then frowned as he mulled over the worlds. Haldir removed his hand, and sighed when he elaborated, “Elrond may be ready to jump into the dating pool, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to jump into dating with you.”

“So I should just give up?” asked Thranduil miserably.

“Maybe,” replied Haldir softly, “But that’s easier said than done. Now, finish your wine, go to sleep, and I’ll clean up in here.”

Thranduil sighed, abandoned the bottle and trudged off to bed. Maybe everything would look better in the morning.

Yeah. Right.

* * *

Morning dawned on the Durinson house, and Thorin was wide awake, and on the move. In the matter of a few hours, both Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, had gone about searching for leads and securing the Durinson business. Frerin had been smuggled out of university in the middle of the night, and was currently laying low at Dain’s house, understandably terrified.

“Any leads?” asked Thorin, as he sipped his coffee in the kitchen. Oin had been with Bilbo all night, checking on the man and doing the jobs of a nurse and doctor.

Dwalin poured himself his own coffee into a plain brown mug, as Mili hovered around the kitchen, pregnant belly leading her around. She was making pancakes, coated in brown sugar, for everyone. The children had been allowed to eat by the T.V to make up for last night’s scare. Baby Frodo had finally settled for the night, in a crib that Dwalin had dug out of the basement.

“A few,” said Dwalin calmly, as he sipped his coffee, made a face, and then added three spoonfuls of sugar. “Balin’s just getting it all organized.”

Oin finally stumbled into the kitchen, and all heads turned to the man. The portly doctor scowled in response, and then trudged over to take a seat at the kitchen table. Mili was already pushing pancakes and coffee his way. Gloin entered behind him, and immediately went to hover around his wife, looking haggard and worried. Balin was the last to enter the kitchen, looking grim as all the Durinsons tensed.

“Leads,” demanded Thorin immediately, sitting up straight and setting his mug down.

“I’ll go sit with the children,” offered Mili, and Gloin nodded at his wife. There was really no reason for Mili not to be present, Gloin told her everything anyways, but Thorin was thankful nonetheless that the boys would be occupied.

As Mili left, Balin cleared his throat and accepted the coffee Dwalin had made for him. His eyebrows were knitted together in that furious, thinking position he liked to portray, and Dwalin was stumbling up to the breakfast bar to sit beside Oin, who was heartily diving into his meal, not a care in the world, except that his hearing aid was turned all the way up, and was ready to catch even the most minute details of this conversation.

“I followed a lead Dwalin had at the local Police station at Ered Luin,” began Balin cryptically, “He’s one of us, speaks Khuzdul perfectly. Had an unfortunate accident while on duty, shrapnel embedded in his head, so he can only speak Khuzdul. Makes him the perfect guy to snoop around at the office and not get caught.”

“What’s your point?” asked Gloin grimly, no doubt furious about the attempt on his nephews and cousins’ life.

“He looked into Dis’ case,” said Balin grimly, and the entire room went tense, “The insurance reports had tied the entire event to an accident, but earlier police reports had suspected it was a hit-and-run. Dis’ car had been turned on it’s side and it had fallen into a nearby marsh. The police reports had suggested there had to be some sort of collision to get the car to turn over the way it did, and that the side door was dented.”

“So how the hell did it get ruled as an accident?!” demanded Gloin, furious, his beard shaking and his mustache twitching as he got redder and redder in the face.

Thorin sympathized. His own fists were clenched and his knuckles were white from the exertion.

“Our friend looked into that,” said Balin, looking even angrier as he spoke, “Said that he was mostly the computer guy and handy-man around the station. He couldn’t read the emails, but he read the numbers. Sent me the data.”

“Bribery,” said Oin, pushing his empty plate aside, “How much?”

“We’re looking at a mix of bribery and extortion. After the accident, two guys left the station. They were transferred, actually. The other man who was at the scene and signed off on the details was paid a hefty sum of fifteen thousand dollars. He hasn’t breathed a word since,” said Balin.

“Can the accidents be linked?” asked Thorin tightly, glaring at Balin as though this was all his fault. It really wasn’t, but Thorin had never been good at distinguishing between messenger and message.

Fortunately, Balin understood Thorin, and he nodded as he said, “He’s a good chap. Dug a bit deeper and got some details from the forensics unit. One man had scraped the side of the car. Found white paint.”

The entire room went silent.

And then Thorin threw his mug. It hit the wall, the ugly brown ceramic shattering as coffee splattered across it. Nobody said anything as the glass went flying to the ground. Dwalin was too busy cracking his own knuckles, Gloin was swearing up a storm in Khuzdul, and Balin was resting his head on his hands. Only Oin was a modicum of togetherness, looking for all the world just a little lost rather than shattered like the coffee cup on the wall.

“Why?” asked Thorin finally, turning to the group of cousins, “Why did they go after her?”

Nobody answered immediately, until Balin finally spoke up again and said, “Dis was going to expand the business into Ered Luin. Eliminating Dis eliminated the spread of our market.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why they went after Thorin now,” replied Gloin brusquely, “Sure he’s in charge of the business, but even if he died, Frerin would take over. And if they somehow got to Frerin, we’d put Dain in charge until the kids were old enough to replace Thorin. Our family’s huge! Ye can’t just kill us all off!”

“They’d have gotten rid of the kids and Thorin in one swoop, Gloin,” said Dwalin bitterly, leaning against the counters, “Dain or Frerin would have lead the business, maybe. But what happens when they go after them? Ultimately, someone would start to notice that the Durinsons are being killed off, so they’d go for another tactic. They wouldn’t go for either of them. If they had any strategy, they’d try and leak rumours. Thorin was unstable, drunk driving. Frerin’s just a kid, not very confidence inspiring. Dain works too far away to be much reassurance in this part of town to the clients.”

“And they’d slowly eat away at our business and reputations until we can’t save face,” replied Balin grimly, “It’s an antiquated tactic, mind, but oldies are goldies.”

“Can we pin someone for this?” asked Thorin furiously.

“We’re looking for any potentials,” said Dwalin easily, “They won’t get away with this.”

Thorin nodded, and silence fell across the kitchen, the group simmering with anger. The men of Durinson were not ones to be easily crossed. Whoever had tried such a thing would feel their wrath. Thorin turned to Oin now, who had his deep thinking face on, most likely considering the outcomes and possibilities.

“How was Bilbo?” asked Thorin, voice tight as he thought of the poor, brave man who had unwittingly been brought into the mess of their family affairs.

“Concussed, mostly,” said Oin easily, “He’ll be fine, though he should have a friend stay nearby to monitor his condition over the next week. I doubt he’ll be in the top parenting form for a young infant. The seatbelt had cut into his neck, actually, and he’s mostly just bruised. Honestly, he got away with what happened purely by luck. He’s even luckier to have scrapped by without injuring the child. That car-seat has my recommendation, certainly. Frodo’s perfectly fine, just a minor bruise on his head, but not enough to warrant a concussion.”

“Dayamu Khuzan-ai hi,” murmured Gloin.

“He’ll stay here,” said Thorin firmly, and there was not a single squeak against him.

* * *

Thranduil left to work that morning very early. He had woken up as usual, to Legolas in his bed. Legolas was in a nightmare stage at the moment. Thranduil didn’t mind the companionship, and his son slept like the dead anyways. Tauriel had already been up at breakfast, being the early riser that she was. Haldir (Iluvatar knew when he woke up), was making something for her, and he pressed a cup of tea he claimed would help help with the hangover into Thranduil’s hand as the blonde was leaving. It was probably just another sneaky attempt to infuse vitamins into his body, because Haldir always seemed to think Thranduil took very little care of himself. As if a man of his stature would let himself waste away.

As soon as he got into the office, his petite little secretary turned to him and said, “Miss Ungoliant is on her way for a meeting.”

Thranduil winced at the nasally inflection that hurt his head this morning, or mayhaps it was the message that hurt, gave a nod, and retreated to his office to fill out some paperwork.

It took two hours, but the dreaded meeting finally arrived. Ungoliant was a tall, dark-skinned woman with sharp white teeth, and rather long limbs. Her dark hair had been shaved very close to her head, and when she reclined in the chair before him, dressed in leather pants and a matte black shirt, Thranduil wasn’t foolish enough not to admit slight fear.

“It has been a while,” said Ungoliant, her nails clacking against the cup his receptionist offered, before shuddering and backing out of the room, “Your stocks have fallen three percent in the last quarter. Less than I had anticipated, but nevertheless, quite staggering when you consider your father’s success.”

Thranduil’s fists clenched as he leaned back in his own chair, and faced the woman squarely as he replied, “And I’m certain you know nothing about why our deliveries seem to be sabotaged? It’s been an ongoing crisis of sorts.”

Ungoliant smiled knowingly, wide lips around the cup as she turned to face Thranduil. The light from the open glass windows of his office blazed into the room, shining onto the leather seats, blazing across both their pointed features, though as different as night and day. Then Ungoliant dipped a claw into her purse, digging, and then removing a picture and flinging it across the desk. Thranduil scowled, and stared at the image, of a baby girll identical to her mother but with strange, tawny golden eyes Thranduil had only seen on one other face.

“Cute, isn’t she?” asked Ungoliant with a small smile, “Where do you think I went off to last year? Disappearing from public eye like I did.”

“Congratulations,” replied Thranduil slowly, “What’s her name?”

“Shelob,” said Ungoliant with a grander smile, holding her hand out for Thranduil to return the picture, “And also the security to my fortune. I’ll put it bluntly, Thrandy. While your father was in business, I was young, and I had to move slowly and carefully. But I’m older and wiser now, and I know that Melkor isn’t going to answer my prayers. You should learn the same about whatever gods you pray to.”

Thranduil stiffened as the woman turned her face, gleaming viciously in the sunlight as it was, and with that same dangerous smile, she continued, “Shelob here will secure all my fortune from this little endeavor here, after all, her father is hardly going to deny his parentage, not with those eyes. You, on the other hand, have very little fortune left to secure. I admit, I’m not a woman of medicine, nor will I ever be. Pharmaceuticals hold little interest, all I want is money. The more, the better. You’re company is swimming for now, but we both know it’s a matter of time before Necromancer takes over Mirkwoods, and then moves on to take over the rest of the Greenwoods. Sell me the company, name your price, and Sauron pays. Your children will be guaranteed a future, and I’ll even grant you a position working under me.”

As she said the last bit, the devious woman ran her eyes over him, and Thranduil stiffened at the implications as she licked her lips. He stood up, and glowering at Ungoliant, who burst into cackling laughter at his temper. Before he could even fly into a rage and kick her out, she was up, graceful as a spider, and her limbs slinked across the room, right in front of him.

“We could fuck right on this desk, Thrandy,” breathed Ungoliant, right into his face, and Thranduil reminded himself that hitting a woman was always wrong, “But you’re not going to do that, are you? Because you’re still a lost little boy who thinks daddy’s going to save the day. Shame Oropher got sick so soon, but a little ironic, isn’t it? Not a medicine in the world could save daddy, save the wifey, and soon enough, it won’t even be able to save your career. Sauron’s going to take over the economy as you know it Thrandy, and you’re never going to be able to prove yourself.”

“Now see here you vi-

“I have to go,” said Ungoliant sharply, cutting him off, “By breasts are still lactating, and I doubt that’s your kink. Think about my offer, Thrandy. By the end of the year, you’ll be wishing you took it.”

And she walked out, heels clicking along the floor. Thranduil sat at his desk a very long time afterwards, fists still clenched, watching the clouds roll by. The clicking never left his head.

****  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dayamu Khuzan-ai hi = Blessings of the Ancestors upon him (Khuzdul)


End file.
